Nobody hands you a manual when you start cycling. There’s no kind soul who sits you down with a cup of tea and says, “Right, love, before you buy that bike, we need to talk about your bum.” So allow me. Consider this the chat I wish someone had had with me — the padded-shorts, chamois-cream, saddle-sore, tan-lines-forever conversation that everyone has after they’ve learnt the hard way. 🩷
I got into indoor cycling thinking it was simple. You sit down, you pedal, you sweat, you feel virtuous. What I did not budget for — emotionally or financially — was an entire secret world of gear and grooming that comes with sitting on a small hard saddle for hours. This is that world. You’re welcome. Also, I’m sorry.
The Shorts: Why They Cost More Than Your Weekly Shop
The first time I saw the price of a decent pair of cycling shorts, I laughed. Out loud. In the shop. Then I looked closer, saw the padding, understood why they cost that much, and quietly handed over my card while whispering “it’s for my health” like a woman making peace with a bad decision.
Here’s the thing nobody warns you about: the padding is not a luxury. That little cushioned pad — the chamois (say it “shammy”, because if you pronounce all the letters, cyclists will know you’re new and pounce) — is the only thing standing between you and a very personal kind of regret. Cheap shorts with thin padding are not a bargain. They’re a trap. A R200 pair of shorts will cost you R2 000 in emotional damage and a walk that makes people ask if you’re okay.
Buy the good shorts. Buy two pairs so you’re never stuck washing the only decent one at 5 am. Your future self, easing gingerly onto the saddle, will thank you.
The Great Underwear Debate (Spoiler: Don’t)
I’m going to say the thing now, and I need you to stay calm. You do not wear underwear under padded cycling shorts. None. Nada. Commando. I know. I felt personally attacked the first time someone told me to.
But there’s a reason. Undies have seams. Seams plus friction plus a few hours in the saddle equals chafing in places you did not consent to having chafed. The chamois is designed to sit directly against you and do its cushioning, moisture-wicking, dignity-preserving job. Add a layer of cotton, and you’ve invited a whole rubbing situation to the party.
Nobody tells you this at the shop. They just sell you the shorts, smile, and let you discover the rest on your own like a rite of passage.
Chamois Cream: The Little Jar of Mystery
So there I was, new shorts sorted, underwear situation reluctantly accepted, when someone mentioned chamois cream and I said, “The what now?”
Chamois cream is a thick, slippery, slightly medicinal-smelling cream that you apply — and there’s no delicate way to say this — directly to the bits that meet the saddle. And/or you smear it onto the pad of your shorts. Its entire purpose in life is to reduce friction so that a long ride doesn’t turn into a long recovery. It’s basically bum lubricant with a fancy French name so we can all pretend it’s sophisticated.
The first time I applied it, I felt ridiculous. I stood in my kitchen, jar in hand, questioning every decision that had led me to this moment. But then I rode. And it was glorious. No hot spots, no burning, no bargaining with the universe at the 40-minute mark. I became a convert on the spot.
A few things nobody tells you: a little goes a long way, so don’t go full cake-icing on your first attempt. Keep your cycling jar separate from anything else in the bathroom cupboard — trust me, you do not want a mix-up. And wash your hands after, unless you’d like to reapply that tingling sensation to your face by accident. Ask me how I know. Actually, don’t.
Saddle Sore: The Thing That Never Makes the Highlight Reel
Instagram is full of glowing women on shiny bikes, hair perfect, captions about freedom. What Instagram does not show is the same woman two days later, walking down the stairs sideways like a crab because she ignored everything above and now has a saddle sore the size of her ambition.
Saddle sores are real, they’re common, and they are absolutely nothing to be embarrassed about — even elite riders get them. They usually turn up when something’s off: shorts that don’t fit right, skipping the chamois cream, staying in sweaty kit too long after a session, or simply doing too much too soon before your body has toughened up to the saddle. The fix is mostly prevention: good shorts, that magic cream, and the deeply unglamorous but non-negotiable rule of getting out of your kit the second you’re done. Do not sit around in sweaty shorts answering emails. That’s how the trouble starts.
If one does flare up, be kind to yourself, take a day or two off the saddle, keep the area clean and dry, and don’t martyr through it. A sore bum is your body filing a formal complaint. Listen to it.
The Tan Lines Are Forever (Even Indoors, Somehow)
You’d think that as a mostly-indoor cyclist I’d be spared the legendary cyclist tan lines. Reader, I was not. Between the odd outdoor ride and the fact that these shorts and sock lengths are apparently branded onto my soul now, I have the exact demarcations of a woman committed to the sport. Bright white thighs, tanned calves, a sock line you could set a ruler against.
There is no fixing this. There is only accepting it. The cyclist tan is a badge of honour and also the reason I now own more than one pair of “long enough to hide the evidence” summer trousers. Wear it proudly. Or wear the trousers. Both are valid.
What I Actually Wish Someone Had Told Me
Right — jokes aside for thirty seconds, because underneath every giggle here is a genuinely useful tip. If you’re new to indoor cycling and want to skip the trial-and-error I so generously waded through, here’s the short version:
- Buy good padded shorts, and buy two pairs. This is the single biggest comfort upgrade you can make.
- No underwear. I don’t make the rules. The chamois goes straight against you.
- Use chamois cream for anything over about 45 minutes. A small amount, on the pad or on you.
- Change out of your kit immediately after a session. Sweaty shorts are saddle-sore’s best friend.
- Build up gradually. Your body needs time to get used to the saddle. Too much too soon is a fast track to a sore backside.
- Keep a dedicated jar for the cream and wash your hands after. Please.
None of this is glamorous. All of it matters. And every single experienced cyclist you meet learnt it the same way you’re about to — by getting it slightly wrong first.
New to the whole indoor cycling thing? 🚴♀️
If this is the first “nobody warned me” moment of many, start where I did. My beginner guides walk you through the gear, the setup and the first wobbly weeks — minus the saddle-sore surprises. And when you’re ready to kit out the training days between the stories, the shop is open.
The Honest Closing Bit
Here’s what I’ve learnt: the unglamorous stuff — the shorts, the cream, the no-undies rule, the getting-changed-immediately discipline — is exactly the stuff that lets you keep riding. Comfort isn’t a side quest. It’s the whole reason you’ll still be on the bike next month instead of quietly resenting it.
So laugh about the chamois cream. Complain about the tan lines. Then look after your bum like the loyal training partner it is. Nobody warned me about any of this — but now, at least, somebody’s warned you. 🩷
Been on the bike a while? Tell me the one thing you wish someone had warned you about when you started — I know I’m not the only one with a chamois-cream-on-the-face story. Come find me on Instagram and confess.
🩷The Endurance Diaries🩷
