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One of the ways I convince myself I’m an athlete is to shop like one. I know what you’re
thinking, but this is not an excuse to do more shopping. It’s actually a sophisticated
form of psychological training. Many of us don’t feel like athletes, regardless of the
working out we do.
We have more negative ways of labeling ourselves, like “overweight, aging, out-of-shape
couch potato trying to trim down, shape up, and look good for my high school reunion.”
We don’t give ourselves credit for accomplishments. We minimize them because we’re
not Olympians or sponsored by a shoe company. And the less we feel like athletes, the less
motivating it is to keep exercising. So I’m serious when I tell you that shopping for
workout clothes and gear is good for your health.
I’ve discovered another way to reinforce my sense of myself as an athlete: hanging around
sports stores. In my case these are bike shops. It’s important to find the right shop.
There are two kinds: one that ignores you unless you’re somebody, and one that treats
everyone equally. The latter gets my business. People who are looking to live healthier, and
feel insecure about whether they measure up, do not need to deal with sales staff who radiate
thinly concealed contempt.
My neighborhood bike shop, The Service Department, treats everyone with respect, whether
you’ve been riding for years or are just getting started. That was why I started going
there. By now I’ve been showing up for so long that most of the staff members know me.
Walking in the door and hearing someone say, “Hi, Karin,” instead of
“Can I help you?” makes me feel like a bicyclist. If I weren’t, these folks
wouldn’t all recognize me, right? That’s the theory anyway.
In the last year I’ve made even more of a breakthrough because I’ve become pals with
some of the mechanics. (Some bike shops don’t have a repair shop; they’ll sell you
stuff but they won’t fix it, which is an obvious drawback.) The repair shop is the inner
sanctum of the bike store. It’s where the Black Art of Bicycle Repair is practiced. My
friend and colleague Jim Langley argues that anyone can fix a bike, but I suspect you need to be a sorcerer’s apprentice who’s
been initiated into the club at midnight.
At the Department, each mechanic has his own workbench. There’s a counter to separate the
work areas from the customers, and up until recently I knew on which side I belonged. However,
one of the mechanics, Tom, has been particularly generous about helping with the Team in
Training bike team, and thanks to him, I have access to the inner sanctum. Tom’s work area
is at the back of the repair shop, so if I need to invite him to one of our team get-togethers,
I walk right in.
It makes me feel not just like an athlete, but like an initiate. Of course I’m not. Tom
has worked on my bike, and can attest to my poor mechanical skills. But so what? I still get
to impress other customers, and myself, by boldly going where no customer has gone before—into
the depths of the repair shop. And if I say things like drivetrain, spoke wrench, and chain lube
loudly enough, people are really impressed.
So this week’s suggestion is to find a shop where the people are nice and don’t mind
spending a little extra time with you. Hang out. Ask questions. Don’t overdo it; make
several shorter visits rather than overwhelming them with one long one. But you’ll be
surprised by how much more educated a shopper you become, and consequently, how much more
knowledgeable you’ll be in your sport—whether it’s running, walking, group
exercise, Tae-Bo, or whatever. And that will help you feel like the athlete you
are.
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