Cyclist Boyfriend Starter Pack (Girlfriend Edition)

A completely accurate, only slightly concerning inventory (now much more realistic than I ever wanted)

At some point early in this relationship, I believed cycling was something people did. Like, occasionally. On weekends. When the sun is out. For fun.

That version of reality lasted about three weeks.

I knew cycling was important to him when a “short ride” turned into five hours, two mountain passes, and a post-ride debrief that sounded almost like the live commentary on EuroSport of the Giro d‘Italia.

What I didn’t realize was that I wasn’t just dating him now- I was, in some way, also dating the bike.

Over time, I’ve come to understand that there are certain patterns. A predictable ecosystem that forms around a man who measures his days in elevation gain rather than hours.

This is the cyclist boyfriend starter pack - as observed from just outside the peloton.

The Equipment (which magically reproduces when you’re not looking)

It always starts innocently.

One bike. “All I need,” he says.

That's cute. Everybody should have a hobby. (So I thought)

Fast forward and we now have:

• a “fast bike”
• a “bike for the roller“
• an "emotional-connection-bike" on the living room wall
• a “climbing setup”
• wheels that apparently “change EVERYTHING“
• and at least one component upgrade that was justified using the phrase „20 grams lighter!“

Somewhere in the apartment there is also a sunglasses ecosystem. I don’t understand it. I’ve stopped trying.

Every purchase has a reason. A very detailed reason. A reason I honestly did not ask for.

The Language Acquisition Phase (unconsensual education)

I did not choose to learn cycling vocabulary. And yet here we are.

• “Zone 2” (sounds relaxing, is not)
• “FTP” (discussed too often, never emotionally neutral)
• “I bonked” (which is apparently both physical and mental collapse, usually results in emptying not only fridge but also pantry)
• “It was just a recovery ride” (a lie, usually)

At some point I started understanding enough to be surprised with myself and my newly acquired knowledge.

Now I can nod and even sound cycling smart in conversations I absolutely did not wish to ever to join.

Time (no longer a shared concept)

Time used to be so, so very simple.

Now it’s….. let’s say interpretive.

“I’ll be back in two hours” translates loosely to:

“See you after lunch, possibly dinner, depending on how the road feels.”

A “quick spin” can include enough elevation to qualify as a small expedition in the Alps.

Weekends are especially flexible. Sundays, in particular, tend to turn into what I can only interpret as a parallel dimension. 

I’ve learned not to plan around it. Planning does not mean control (learned that the hard way)

The Documentation Obsession

Rule #1: No ride exists unless it is recorded.

Everything is uploaded to Strava, where it becomes part of a larger narrative involving segments, PRs, KOMs, and occasionally also an existential crisis. 

There is a post-ride ritual:

• Check stats
• Analyze stats
• Slightly question stats
• Explain stats to girlfriend
• Talk about stats for rest of the day

Photos are also mandatory. The bike is always leaning against something dramatic. A view. A mountain that has to (!!) make the labor in the image visible. Proof of the suffering - you know?? 

If the ride isn’t recorded properly, the mood shifts instantly. Enough that you notice. If it‘s not posted on Strava - where you even there??

The Holidays (or: altitude training with accommodation)

Before dating a cyclist, I thought holidays were for relaxing.

Now I understand they are for “optimal training environments.“ (tough times, I know)

„I have this great idea for a trip this weekend“ Speaking from experience: This makes all my alarm bells ring, because I already know I won’t see my boyfriend for 4-7 hours every day, since cycling boyfriends tend to disappear right after a (massive) carb-loaded breakfast.

Destinations tend to include:

• The Dolomites
• Or anywhere else the Alps
• Or anywhere with a gradient that can be described as “Altitude Training”

There is no such thing as a restful holiday. Only active recovery.

Packing is efficient. Predictable. Slightly terrifying. 3 Bibs, 2 Jerseys and a windbreaker - should be enough right?? Of course you cannot forget to mention the mountains of mandatory snacks and the full range of tools, chain wax / lube, and wipes, filling up the majority of a cyclists bag.

Are there even holidays without a bike anymore? 

The Part Where I Pretend This Is Normal

Here’s the uncomfortable truth: It’s easy to make fun of all of this.

The gear obsession. The data. The inability to describe a „cyclist boyfriend“ in human terms to a non-cyclist. 

And yet…

There is something strangely fascinating about it.

The discipline is real. The commitment is real. Even the suffering is weirdly structured.

I’ve watched him ride for hours, focused, stubborn in a way that doesn’t really translate into normal conversation. 

It’s hard to argue with that, even when it disrupts an entire Sunday.

So no, I don’t fully understand cycling.

I probably never will.

But I’ve learned that if someone can willingly spend six hours climbing a mountain for fun, they’re either deeply unwell…

or extremely committed to something I don’t fully have access to.

Possibly both.

Either way, I’ve stopped competing with the bike and accepted that I will be third-wheeling for a long, long time.

I can’t win that one.