Friday, February 11, 2005

Competitive Spirit

I am in denial about the fact that I am competitive about a lot of things. Once when I lived in the co-op I off-handedly said something about not being competitive and the whole kitchen-full of housemates burst out into uncontrollable laughter. A few of them labeled me as the most competitive person they ever met. I didn't believe them--after all, many of them also think I am the most aggressive personality they've encountered. Not really, I just tend to be more blunt and honest instead of manipulative and back-stabbing.

In terms of biking, I really have no reason for denying my competitiveness. I love to pass people, and hate to be passed by other riders when I am pedalling. Spandexed roadies are allowed to pass me, but really no one else. Other women passing me is completely unacceptable, even if I am hauling groceries and they are in full-spandex, aerobar glory. Absolutely not--I will catch them.

I realized yesterday morning how sicky competitive I am on my commute. There were several of my favorite type of bike riders--people who run red lights. I stop for almost all traffic lights, and this gives slower riders, whom I previously passed, the opportunity to catch up with me, and then pass me by running the light. This gives me the chance to pass them again! Yesterday the lights were timed perfectly for us to play a fun game of leap-frog--they pass me when I'm stopped and I catch them when we are both moving. Too much fun, and too pretty sick.

Last night I saw the twinkling of a rear bike light far ahead and off I went to catch him. I kept getting caught behind yellow lights--but that just made it more fun for me to see him almost fade from sight and then just miss him. This pattern repeated several times before I finally passed him with a cheerful, 'on your left'. Victory is mine.

On tonight's ride home I had an even more fun experience. I was leap-frogging with a light runner for quite a while and then thought I left him behind and forgot about him. He didn't seemed happy when I passed him and seemed to be participating in my race. Apparently he was working to catch up with me and was panting as he went by me. I kept pretty close behind him but waited so I could pass him at the next overpass (Chicago's only hills). He was really panting when I passed him going up the hill. Whistling. Wearing heels. And a skirt. I am a bitch. It was fun.

I am competitive.

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