Welcome to September, a month where #2 pencils and fresh notebooks hold all the promise of a new year. Instead of celebrating school supplies, we’re going to celebrate our gear this month. Not just any pair of shoes or a race tee, though, but the one that holds meaning. We’re looking for your most sentimental or memorable piece of gear. The one that makes you smile when you pull it on–or think about it. 

We’d love to hear about your gear. If you’d like to contribute a short essay about your most sentimental or memorable piece of gear, email us at bamr@anothermotherrunner.com your tribute (<600 words), with a few pictures of you with the gear, and we’ll be in touch.

To start us off, we’ve got Dimity and her two-wheeled pal Lyle.  

Even though I co-founded this running-focused company, triathlons always felt like they’d suit me best: my long limbs require fewer strokes on the swim, my legs can keep a high, efficient cadence on the bike (which isn’t true for the run), and the training was more low- than high-impact, which was ideal for my oft-injured body.

My first ride on Mr. Lyle, before he even had his name.

The problem with triathlon, especially for the mother of a young family, is that it’s expensive if you want to race frequently and go faster. Getting aero on the bike—or making your upper body as streamlined as possible—is a huge time saver when you’re racing. I first went aero by clipping aerobars onto your road bike, which is a little like putting a spoiler on a wood-paneled minivan. I drooled over tri bikes, but investing in one was hard to justify amidst childcare, cable bills, and other day-to-day expenses.

Thanks to a partnership we once had with Trek, I was able to afford Lyle, the name I gave my extra-large tri bike. His green stripes made me think of Lyle, Lyle Crocodile, which made me think of a croc: low to the ground, swifter than he looks, deadly when he wants to be. To be clear: Lyle the croc wasn’t deadly, and either is Lyle Lovett, another favorite Lyle of mine. I’m not particularly deadly either, come to think of it.

Getting it done together.

But I am strong and athletic, and Lyle helped me capitalize on that. Once I felt confident shifting and staying in the aerobars, he unlocked a speed I’d always sensed was in my body but could never reach through running. Sometimes, seeing our sleek shadow flicker across the pavement would bring me to tears. My body, which isn’t an easy fit for most things, was so supported and solid on Lyle. I didn’t hurt. As a result, I flew.

Mostly, though, Lyle made me feel present. This passage from a 2014 Half Ironman in western Colorado, pretty much sums up how I felt on Lyle:

For the first 10 miles, I kept humming, “This course is made for you and me,” a la This Land is Your Land. (You = Lyle, my two-wheeled fly guy.) When I got sick of that, Taylor Swift’s State of Grace popped into my head, and it couldn’t have been more appropriate: distant mountains were sandwiched between Crayola sky and kelly spring green of Colorado farms. I felt so balanced and strong. Like there was no other place on this earth I was supposed to be than smack dab in Grand Junction, pedaling my bike, and just feeling graceful—and grateful.

Lyle and I were steadies for about four years, and then my running slowed way down, and I wasn’t really ready to admit that. He gathered dust in our basement corner, becoming that thing I saw all the time but didn’t really register.

Flat water, smooth roads, and Lyle: pretty much perfect.

I pulled Lyle—and myself, if I’m honest—out of retirement in 2021 for the Aquabike National Championships. Despite being a decade old, and both of us looking (and feeling) a little vintage by then, he was as smooth and fast as ever. I was a little more creaky, but I did our best to soak up our last miles together, and we placed on the podium.

He went back into the basement corner after that race, which is no place for a stead like Lyle to pasture. So this past winter, I sold him to a young (and tall) triathlete just getting into the sport. I didn’t share his name with the buyer; Lyle and I had our story together, and now it’s time for him to help somebody else tell his.