It is only fitting that this week's profile begins with a warning: never, ever underestimate the power of the Fraggle. Ever. Part performance artist, part elite athlete, she is most certainly a figure to be feared. Like Bowie's Ziggy Stardust, Madonna's Esther, or Beyonce's Sasha Fierce, her success turns upon the cultivation of an alter ego.
Look at me, she says, I am just an innocent little plaything. Come and crawl into my cave. We will play together, all of us. We really can all just get along and dream happy dreams together. And we will have silly, wonderful good times, fun-loving little fraggles that we are. When she strikes that pose, it is hard to resist being drawn into her cozy and enjoyable orbit. But then, trap sprung, the Fraggle performs an abrupt about-face. Just when you start thinking of her as a cute and playful stuffed doll, she will rip the your heart out and eat it for lunch.
In this respect, it must be acknowledged that the Fraggle sits a bit further out on the margins of the FGBC than many of us. When it says "we are exactly what we are," one thing it means is that we take a rather more casual approach to the whole competitive racing thing than other bike clubs. We are as happy to show up at a race to play super fans as we are to participate in the race itself. Some of us are even happier in that role. But that is not really the Fraggle's thing. She flat out loves to compete. Lives for it even. In that respect, you might say that the Fraggle is the yin to our collective yangs. While at times she bristles at some of the androcentric tendencies of the FGBC, get her out on the race course and she displays more testosterone than the rest of the team can muster as a group. The Fraggle is a natural born killer. She is as aggressive as they come and is satisfied with nothing less than kicking your ass. Your best bet is simply to back off and just let her win. Don't say you weren't warned.
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