Ride and Prejudice

Okay, so the online dating didn’t work; the in-person dates didn’t work; the ‘wait for the right man to come along’ didn’t work.

So, do you know what I did? I took to Strava. Strava literally found me the perfect man. If the Strava creators don’t produce some form of online dating platform, they’ve missed a trick, because for some, with a type, it just works! In the spirit of showing agency and taking action, I reached out to the most handsome, talented cyclist that I’ve had the pleasure of Strava-stalking. And he had a literary name to boot! My Charlotte Emily Brontë inspired name (my mum is a lit nerd) sat in harmony with his poetic surname. But we’ll call him Mr Velocity on account of his cycling speed, his position on Strava segments and to give the poor lad anonymity.

In one of my ‘fuck it moments’, I messaged him on Strava. I really didn’t think for one moment, he’d have the confidence, class or courage to message me back. But he did. Returning home from Leeds, after a track session, I got a reply. An actual reply. Some nutter from Earby messaged him and he agreed to go on a date.

My message went like this: Congratulations (name hidden to protect the innocent)! I am pleased to announce that you’ve won a competition to take me out for a cycle. As a result of managing to be born with a literary name, you’ve bagged yourself a cycle with a lit student from Leeds!

My idealistic, romantic-comedy, saturated brain could not compute that he agreed to meet.

And what came next was perfect: Haworth, a walk, lunch and the most gentlemanly hug known to man. My perfect romantic hero had chivalric qualities that could rival Mr Darcy and he was built like a pro athlete. Jane Austen herself could not have penned a better romantic hero.

We had the first date and the best part was that he actually wanted to see me again. How had he not been discouraged by my pushy, competitive, outspoken persona? I might have Brontë-inspired names, but I’m so much more of a Lizzie Bennett. Second date? Really?

And the second date was even better than the first. Mr Velocity had game. Ooof, he knew how to charm the running knickers off me, in the most PG and gentlemanly manner. Cinema, lunch and a drive. And reader, I got my romantic kiss at a romantic vista overlooking the Yorkshire Dales.

But here lies the problem. There’s a moment in Persuasion when Captain Wentworth expresses his feelings for Anne and he opens his letter with the words, ‘I am half agony, half hope’. Expressing feelings for someone you like leaves you open to heart ache. Realising you have feelings for someone can be both wonderful and terrifying: it’s a leap of faith. And with each leap of faith, there’s always the possibility of tragedy.

But as we reached the third date, my romantic hero galloped across the moors to see me on his mighty steed (or more accurately, he cycled from Leeds over the Lancashire border to see me at my house in Earby). But to be honest, he’s probably so much faster than Mr Darcy’s horse. The moment when he appeared on my doorstep, clad in Lycra, can only be compared to when Lizzie sees Darcy for the first time in his leather boots and riding breeches. Mr Velocity literally took my breath away. A beautiful torso, a beautiful human and the manners of a gentleman!

And this might seem wonderful and perfect. And some might call me churlish for what I’m about to say, but now I’ve now opened up my heart and exposed myself to hurt. I’m that person who falls hard; I’m fiercely loyal and now I’ve only got eyes for Mr Velocity. And if the bubble bursts and he sees me without makeup, or after swim teaching, or simply tires of my company, the recovery time is painful and long. I’m a swan who mates for life. I’m not programmed to endure multiple relationships with multiple people.

He’s a scientist and I’m an archetypal lit enthusiast. I love without measure; I am excessive, overwhelming and incredibly spontaneous. I don’t think consequences. I book trips on a whim; I buy running shoes when I’m sad and took up cycling to impress a boy. I have no off-switch; I’m all or nothing. But Mr Velocity presents an antithetical juxtaposition. He’s scientific, measured; he probably thinks in controlled variables. He travels light and knows when to call it a day. He can cycle into the distance and not feel the overwhelming sense of sadness that I always feel when a wonderful moment ends.

Whilst Mr Velocity has insane speeds on his bike, I fall in love way too fast. Dare I believe for one second I’ve found my Mr Knightley? And for all my girl power bravado, I had my Lizzie Bennett moment when Mr Velocity carried me across a bog to preserve my Timberland boots on a walk after watching the Tour of Britain. Unlike the romantic archetype, however, bathos typifies my experience. I don’t remember Mr Darcy sinking beneath the bog as Lizzie Bennett had to swiftly dismount.

So, is Strava the solution to finding the ‘perfect man’? I concluded, a few years ago, in another article, that he’s firmly trapped in the pages of a Regency novel. However, maybe perusing Strava could lead you to the perfect man? All of a sudden, for me, Strava, became less about hitting the top spot on the segments and more about finding a date who enjoys Hawaiian pizza!