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Fly Girls

For three years now I've been cruising around New York on my blue Nishiki road bike, perfectly content to work what I call the “riding dirty” look; the look that one commenter on the Wall Street Journal's Beyond Spandex: Chic Styles for Cyclists Take Off astutely referred to as “biking ugly.” I'm a personal trainer by trade, and I have the easiest gig in the city to show up on a bike to: my uniform is black spandex and sneakers, my hair looks sportier tied up in a bun, and it's better for business when I practice what I preach, anyway. All of which means I wear tee shirts 29 days out of 30, a substantial portion of my garments have suffered hip-height grease stains, and the most important product in my makeup bag is Purell. So looking cute, chic, stylish, or like I belong anywhere besides on the bike or in the gym has never even needed to be a priority. Until recently, this has been fine because, inevitably, biking turned out to be the priority.

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