That's nothing. When I was wearing a full on racing still outfit on my $1400 bike with custom wheels and clipless pedals, some day laborer in jeans and a flannel rode past me on his girl's Huffy with the seat too low and one half flat tire. Without labored breath, he asked me how far I was going. I panted that I was 2 miles from home. He had 6 to go. There's a reason I never made it to the Olympics. Such is life.