My steed
By Alison Colavecchia
1.5.01 (www.slowtwitch.com)

I received a new vacuum for Christmas. It is a black "Lightning" with a see-thru Hepa vacuum bag system and a veritable buffet of attachments. This baby can hug corners, change gears with a flick of the wrist to accommodate variable terrain, and can climb. While working it hums. I barely lean over to handle this beautiful piece of machinery. To boot , it is sleek black, the same colour as Natascha Badmann's Cheetah.

This new steed is powerful and efficient getting the job done in half the time my old 80's model used to. Don't get me wrong, I love my old vacuum, it has seen me through my earlier domestic years and held together remarkably well, though requiring several rolls of duct tape. You have to be proud of something that can work that hard, stay with you in your formative years and still be prepared to keep going. The time, however, has come to retire old faithful… or maybe I'll move her to the basement where she can still be serviceable but not involved in the most critical of jobs.

I am facing the same dilemma with my bike. While my Miele (affectionately known as "Gracie") is the one I have learned all my lessons on to date, it is time to move up. I need a bike that can do the big jobs now, the critical jobs. I need an Ironbike.

When I bought my bike I wanted to own it outright, I did not want to simply charge it to my credit card. In order to pay cash, I drank a lot less coffee, bought fewer clothes and squirreled away all that loose change you find in people's pockets when you do the laundry. I paid $200 for Gracie, in full, before she came home. Although used and not that expensive, she became a symbol of my commitment to my Ironman and is the only bike ever be hung up inside the house. At first when I saw her, I figured she was built for my 10 year old daughter! This thing was tiny but apparently just my size. I got a deal on "real" cycling shoes and the bike came equipped with Look bindings (aren't those for skiis???). I already had the shorts and received a computer from my Dad (the other bike guru guy) for my birthday. I was ready to rip….sort of….

I was petrified of three things with my new bike. First, I was afraid of falling over. So I planned my routes out of town to minimize traffic lights and/or potential stops. On the first go, my plan was doomed within three blocks as I hit a red at the first main corner. Butterflies in my stomach, I somehow managed to get my right foot out before falling. Once the light changed, getting back into the pedals was a different story, I wasn't able to do this until after I made the corner giving myself a nice bruise on my shin applying maximum force to make the turn in front of oncoming traffic while attempting to clip in at the same time, thereby slamming my new Look pedal directly into my shin. Lesson one: clip then turn.

Second, with my groovy new wheels I was determined that there would be no more bike paths or local roads for me, I was hitting the high roads out of town

Enter the farm dogs.

While always a little unnerved by loose dogs, cycling brought me to a full blown phobia. They see me coming––I swear it––even with other riders in front of me they smell my fear and head straight for me. In all the magazines, triathlon and running alike, don't you think I could come across one article on how to deal with dogs? No way! So mentally I occupied myself with designing products such as "Dog Away" to help me with my problem; asked everyone I could what their strategies were for dealing with the demons; and began the process of discovering dog-free routes. If I had company for a ride, I would brave a new route. Without it I stuck to the tried-and-true.

I am still petrified of these dogs, particularly thumping pumping Rottweilers! Thanks to JulieAnne White’s article (Legendary Workouts by Legendary Athletes) I discovered a reframe for the Rottweiler thing, but needless to say I am still a little on the anxious side.

As kids, my father showed each of us how to dismantle and reassemble our bikes––to clean, shine, buff and puff them. Bike maintenance in our house was reasonably serious business. On bringing Gracie home however, I immediately developed a fear of bike maintenance! This was a problem, in that I had promised myself that this was my bike and that I would not leave responsibility for it to my husband or anyone else. My logic was that if I were out of town and riding alone I would need to know what to do with it should it fall apart

But this bike is not my bike of decades ago and so I have yet to dismantle it. Perhaps this is also fueled by a dread of having to take it back to my cycle shop and confess that I can't put it back together again. While I have been fitted to my bike I have not yet asked for help in the maintenance department. I have installed my computer, replaced my seat, put on and adjusted my aerobars, cleaned and buffed it. I have yet to take it apart and really go to town.

As a loyal, grassroots back of the packer, I have been served well by smaller shops that cater to local recreational and competitive athletes. I really enjoy visiting my bike shop, as its mechanics have always gone above and beyond the call of duty in helping me out, giving me a deal, a story or a training tip. I am comfortable, there are no airs and I can ask all my "dumb" questions and get smart answers.

For my swimming gear I have enjoyed going to a small shop that specializes in all things related to competitive swimming sports. They helped shoehorn me into my first rented wetsuit and only laughed a little. Triathlon shops are not the same. While I ooh and aah over the walls lined with all matter of triathlon gear and gadgetry, the guys asking me if they can help are young, lean and clearly in-the-know (based on the observable fact that they are still wearing their sunglasses on their heads).

As I think about getting a new bike I find myself facing a dilemma. I must now decide whether to invest my hard earned cash in the shop that has faithfully nursed me to this point or whether it is time to hit the tri shop. In choosing to go the tri shop route, I will not only have to admit to my back of the pack status, to my teeny weeny tri budget but also to the gradual shift that is taking place within me. Perhaps it is time to delve a little more deeply into the triathlon world because my own body of triathlon knowledge is growing as is the level of my fitness and commitment to a training and racing lifestyle. So although I may never walk around inside––when it is minus 20 degrees Celsius outside––with my racing sunglasses on, I am beginning to see that this crazy swim-bike-run lifestyle may in the end leave the tri-guys and I more alike than our places in the pack make us different.