Triathlon Christmas Bike-Learning the Hard Way

Stephen bought me a nice triathlon bike for Christmas. It’s shiny and red and black and fast and I know nothing more than that. But he says it’s a good bike. 

It was a beautiful Southern California day so, like a kid, I wanted to take my new shiny, red and black, fast Christmas bike for a ride. I had never been “clipped in” on a bike before so, being the awesome coach that he is, Stephen gave me some quality instruction beforehand. 

“You need to clip out before you stop, so that when you stop you can put your foot down. Clip out before you stop, ok? Before.” 

“Yep, yep, ok,” I quipped, “got it, got it.” 

And I did. I practiced clipping in, clipping out, putting my foot down. Clipping in, clipping out, putting my foot down. Easy. I did this back and forth in front of the house while Stephen got the kids all outfitted on bikes—tires pumped up, helmets on. By the time they were all ready, I was feeling good. Bring it—let’s go. 

We rode around the neighborhood, the kids whizzing around, laughing and talking. Stephen rode his triathlon bike up ahead, keeping a watchful eye on everyone. The sun was shining, the streets were Christmas quiet. Everything was just perfect.

I was taking it easy, not getting too big for my britches, so I was a little way behind everyone. Up ahead, they all stopped to let me catch up. I was just enjoying the blue sky and warm breeze, loving that the kids were having a good time, feeling grateful for an amazing first Christmas with Stephen, noticing the neighbors’ cozy Christmas decorations, basking in the moment. In retrospect, I do vaguely recall Stephen yelling something, but I was just a-grinning ear to ear, not a care in the world, soaking in the SoCal Christmas sunshine as I pulled up to the crew and came to a stop. 

Without clipping out first. 

There was a very brief moment when time paused, the whole world was a quiet hush, and I balanced at a standstill. What was I supposed to do? 

And then, right into the only mud puddle around the whole block, like a felled tree—tip—I went from vertical to horizontal before I could say nutcrackers. 

“Clip out before you come to a stop,” Stephen chimed dryly. 

“Got it,” I replied. 

The kids were freaking out. Thought I’d most likely died or soon would. 

“I’m okay, I’m okay,” I laughed, deciding as I said it if I was okay. 

“Are you sure mom?” My youngest was the most concerned. “That was scary.” 

“Eh,” I said, my ego more bruised than my body. “I’m pretty tough. I’ll be alright.” She wasn’t convinced. So, trying to look casual, I scrambled up, had a little laugh at myself, and got back on the bike, bottom bruised and ego in check. 

I realized afterwards that Stephen had been yelling, “Clip out, clip out,” way before I came to a stop. But my brain was on autopilot. It thought, “We’ve ridden a bike lots of times, nothing to it.” 

But tipping over, into a mud puddle, as everyone watched pulled my brain out of autopilot quicker than if Stephen had said, “clip out” 100 times.

Learning things the hard way is, well, hard. We hate it for our kids, love it for our enemies, despise it for ourselves. Unfortunately, sometimes that’s the only way to get things to really stick in these stubborn brains of ours. 

Since then, we have gone on several rides and my brain has never once been on autopilot. I am hyper-aware of needing to clip out before I stop, preferably way before I stop. Falling was not fun, but it definitely drove the point home and created a new habit in my brain instantaneously.

I don’t wish for myself, or anyone else, to have to learn things the hard way. But I think occasionally in life it’s inevitable and instead of beating ourselves up, berating ourselves for making a mistake, if we reframe it and see the value in the lesson learned, we can save ourselves some negative self talk and enjoy the side effect of being able to change our behavior more quickly and permanently because of the intensity of the lesson.

It is also possible to learn from other people’s mistakes and life experiences. That’s why I’m writing this blog—I’m hoping you can glean some wisdom from my life experiences that will help you eat, train, and love in new and (hopefully) better ways.

In this instance, if you are learning to clip in and out on a road bike, I hope you don’t have to learn the hard way. You can learn vicariously from me. You need to clip out before you stop, so that when you stop you can put your foot down. Clip out before you stop, ok? Before.

If you do end up having to learn it the hard way, pick yourself up, get back on the bike and remember—every day, every moment, every interaction, every breath is an opportunity to begin again.

Christmas bike!