Probably the most revered one-day bicycle race was held last weekend – Paris-Roubaix.  The women on Saturday, the men on Sunday.  Many kilometres of vicious cobblestones define this epic, which for the men began in 1896.

I couldn’t pull my eyes away from the TV.  There were clouds of dust, crashes, exhaustion … and all the hours of riding pointed towards the finish: one-and-a-half laps of the ancient Vélodrome André-Pétrieux in Roubaix.

Today an article appeared on the GCN website about another iconic building – the nearby shower block for the weary cyclists.  The structure, built in 1936, looks ordinary but the athletes who want to breathe Paris-Roubaix history wash away the mud and sweat there, rather than in their fancy buses.

I was merrily reading along when one of the writer’s sentences stopped me:

Here, even the rainbow stripes of the world champion give way to the bare skin of the mortal man beneath

I thought of my body, of all bodies.  Male/female, young/old, fat/thin, healthy or not.  We each have one.  Hopefully we do our best to take care of it.  And hopefully Hollywood images of beauty don’t persuade us of any inadequacy.

Parts of my life have been misinformed with a tanning fetish – not too brown, but just the right coffee cream tone … revealing a happy outdoorsy life.

Silly me, and my many efforts to look culturally good.  A week ago, the lingering traces of needing mid-brownness took a hit.  I was watching a Netflix series about the men’s cycling team Jumbo Visma and there were moments in their bus where riders were stripping off their jerseys.  And guess what was underneath …

Lily white chests and upper arms

Dark brown forearms

Just like me in summer

If it’s good enough for Jonas Vingegaard, it’s good enough for me.  No strategies that lead to possible public approval.  Just me enjoying my white-y life.