Chicked by a Girl

I was chicked by a girl, and I liked it

If the phrasing of the above sentence sounds familiar, that is because it’s an altered line from Katy Perry’s song, “I Kissed a Girl” [actual line: I kissed a girl, and I liked it].  I do not like this song.  It is annoying and cheesy.  However, that sentence so succinctly summarizes what happened on Saturday.  I also couldn’t get that line out of my head no matter how hard I tried.

I hate the word “chicked”

Cycling is known for a somewhat elitist subculture amongst the upper echelons of athletes.  I am in no way implying that all of the people up with exceptional abilities are this way, but there certainly are a lot of them.  Triathlon has this issue as well, but in my opinion, it is not as pronounced of a problem.  This subculture is a lot like stereotypical high school jocks that never grow out of that phase.

I encountered quite a few of those types of people on Saturday.

Getting chicked occurs when a woman passes a man.  The word has been a derogatory term I’ve known about for several years.  I don’t know how long the phrase has actually been used.  I have only heard it used in the context of cyclists and triathletes.  Every time I hear it used in a casual manner – that isn’t making fun of the word – I automatically lower my opinion of the speaker.  If used in a more formal manner, my opinion goes even lower.

On Saturday, I was participating in an aptly named Horribly Hilly Hundreds near Madison, Wisconsin.  It is a ride that is on a bucket list of many cyclists.  The ride was fun and went well for the most part, but as the name implies there was a lot of hill climbing.  This ride gives you the choice of 63 miles, 100 miles, or 124 miles.  I chose the 100 miles.  I likely would not have been able to complete the 124 mile course.  On the 100 mile route there was 9,300 feet of vertical climbing – only uphills count, not downhills.  A normal century ride would only have about 1/4 of that.  On top of the regular hills at normal grades, there were quite a lot of hills that had extreme grades of 15% to 20%.

It was right after the first major hill of the day where I first heard someone razz a guy about getting chicked.  I was struggling on that hill because of the grade.  This one was 15% at times.  I was in my granny gear (the smallest (easiest) chainring in front on bikes that have three chainrings – not considered a derogatory term, all cyclists use this word) and struggling along at about 4.5 mph just to keep the bike upright.  I was passing a few people and getting passed by a few as well.

I then had a serious mechanical breakdown.

My chain slipped off my back gears – called a cassette – and got itself wedged between the spokes and the gears.  I stopped pedaling as soon as heard it but I was putting so much power into the bike just to stay upright that the chain got really wedged in there.  Normally, when this happens I can just yank on it really hard and the chain will free itself.  I did that to no avail.  Thankfully, one of the sag wagons came by within a short period of time.  The helper had a hammer and a massively long screwdriver, the kind long enough to stir a paint can.  Those tools combined with a couple minutes of pounding finally got my chain free.

If you have ever had to start a bike while on a steep incline, you know how tough it is for those first few pedal strokes.  Once I finally got started again and had regained my momentum I wanted to jump for joy, but that would have defeated the purpose and made me stop again.  All that exertion made my adrenaline really spike, which actually tends to make things easier after a little bit.

I was feeling good with the blood rushing, but that also means that my heart rate was through the roof.  Nobody had a chance of knowing what my heart was doing at the time.  They had an incredibly easy time knowing what my lungs were doing, though.  I was rapidly taking in massive breaths and I sounded like a freight train.

Then along comes three women who were acting as if this climb was like a walk in the park.  Everyone else on the hill was likely in the 4 mph range somewhere.  These three ladies were holding a conversation amongst themselves while in the high 5’s or low 6’s mph range or so.  They were doling out compliments and encouragement along the way to everyone they passed.

I had nothing but admiration for these ladies and their abilities.

At the top of the hill there was a guy just standing there waiting for his buddies to finish their climbs.  I passed his buddies close to the top of the hill.  I heard him yell something like, “You guys suck.  You got chicked by THREE girls! On the same hill!”

I was not pleased with that comment at all.  I wanted to give him a piece of my mind, but I showed some restraint.  It’s been a long time since high school; I am much better at being able to control the adrenaline.  I didn’t need to get into a petty argument.

They all stopped for water.  I don’t like to stop immediately at the top of the hill, so I soft-pedaled for a bit to let me catch my breath a bit before I stopped.  I didn’t stop for as long as they did because I wanted to push onward.

I think the chicked term is quite demeaning.  It makes it sound as if all of the effort those ladies had obviously put into getting better at climbing hills was just plain expected.  They are the same chauvinistic ideas that say that men must always be better at sports than women.  This is patently false in all individual sports.  If a woman puts in the time and effort to her passion, of course she should reap the speed and strength reward.  I am proud that there are women that are much faster than I am.

I was chicked by three girls (and many more along the route) and I liked it.