Then there were the other riders. Women, it seems, do not do this race. There were only eight of us, compared with 73 men. But every racer, man or woman, looked like a serious athlete. Almost everyone had aero bars — special handlebars that look like horns and allow you to crouch into an aerodynamic position. Many had aero helmets, which are designed to decrease air resistance, as well as aero wheels, which reduce the drag on your bike. Almost everyone was a member of a cycling team or club.

We had none of this special equipment. We were not on a team. My heart sank — what had we signed up for?

We lined up according to our race numbers and set off, one by one. I was so nervous I forgot to set my bike computer, so I had no idea how far I had gone or how far I had to go. Nor did I know my average speed. It was like nothing I had ever done before, and I was not having fun. I kept telling myself just to keep going. I had told my friends I was riding, and I knew they would want to know how I did. I did not want to embarrass myself with a ridiculously slow time.

Finally, the race was over.

“I’m never doing that again,” I said to Bill. “I was the slowest woman.” Well, he told me, he felt sure he was the slowest man. We drove home, chastened. So much for thinking we were the fastest cyclists on the road. I was glad running is my real passion. It is not fun to feel like such a failure.

The next day the race organizers posted the results.

What a surprise. I came in sixth out of the eight women. And I beat two men and tied with one. Bill beat six men and six women.