Actually, I’m kidding with the title, being a cyclist – not dabbling around the edges, but actually being one of those guys is fun as hell (if I were a woman I would have said girls so don’t get those panties in a bunch, eh?). There are some very important rules to know and understand about being a cyclist though – some of which cannot be broken and others, well that depends on where you live. The point is, don’t take as gospel everything you read on them there interwebs.
I was invited by the owner of my local bike shop, two years ago, to ride with the advanced club cyclists – I’d been cycling (riding a road bike – mountain bikes do not count) for all of three months and could already hold a 20 mph average (solo) for 13 miles. Now, unlike most noobs who will show up with their tightie whities sticking out of the waistband of their cycling shorts, I actually did some research before I showed up because while I may have been a noob, flaunting my noobishness embarrassingly is unnecessary and detrimental to one’s inferiority complex.
Unfortunately, and this goes almost universally across the internet, Rule #33 had me scratching my head. I’m not quite a Yeti but I’m a furry fellow for certain. I had been trimming my arm, leg and chest hair for years because there’s nothing worse than driving down the expressway on a summer’s day, windows down, arm on the sill, feeling great about life – only to arrive at your destination with what has turned into a 2″ “fro” on your left arm while the hair on your right rests neatly against its arm. Equally troubling is the fact that, at least for men, once you reach a certain age – and I’d reached it – hair stops growing on your head while growth escalates on a Biblical proportion everywhere else on your body. As a bonus, trimming said obnoxious body hair only takes 20 minutes every two weeks. That’s not a whole lot of time needed for proper manscaping – that’s a drop in the bucket. Broken down, that’s only 1/1008th of those two weeks.
So I’m faced with a problem, because while I didn’t have chicken legs back then, I had been a runner for a decade before I bought my first bike, my legs certainly couldn’t be considered “guns” or, as they are now, “cannons”. Who can forget the “No-No” commercial, the first one, that showed the short, chubby guy burning the hair off of his man-boobs with a smile on his face? Well folks, that’s the dilemma. How can you shave your guns when the muscles aren’t chiseled enough? You end up the equivalent of bald man-boobs! Who gives a shit if you’re hairless when you look like you could start lactating next week?
Well, my legs weren’t near that bad but you get the point… I really had to think long and hard before I broke out the razor… But I did.
Now that my sisters have grown accustomed to complaining at summertime family functions about the fact that my legs look better than theirs, I realize that I may have made a mistake when I shaved the “guns” for the first time. You see, only a couple of the (many) racers in our group shave their legs. It isn’t until you get to State Championship level that the practice really kicks into gear. In other words, there I am for my first club ride and? Anyone? Just short of man-boobs for legs. Dammit! How did I put all of this together? My God, you’re the quizzical type today aren’t you… The owner of the LBS clued me in the day after I shaved them down for the first time.
Well, the story has made its rounds and we all have a laugh about it from time to time… Because I still shave them daily. Even through the winter. Why, you may ask? I still shave my legs because Mrs. Bgddy likes it now. Well, technically I do too because my legs look freaking awesome – even Patti Ann Browne would be like, “Dude, those guns are awesome”! What’s that? Who is Patti Ann Browne? Just Google the name and see what shows up in the drop down list… The first one!
Getting back on track now that you’re done tinkering with Google (and tried adding “boobs” – and turned the “safe search” off, Geez, REALLY?)… The point is, I never had to shave my legs in the first place! Rule number 33 doesn’t apply in flyover country! AND, by trying to avoid looking like a noob, I looked like a shaved noob.
Now that, 775 words in, gets us to the point of this whole post in the first place: Be careful with the razor! Once your legs reach porcelain god status, you have to really be careful getting around all of the nooks and crannies – and watch out for the ridges too because those bastards bleed forever after you’ve sliced the skin off!