F-O-
Over the Thanksgiving holiday, I dropped three or four pounds and the "O" of F-O-R-M began to unearth itself. Monday, I felt silky smooth and light on the bike, turning the pedals over with no effort whatsoever, in the groove, laying down what the good Lord gave me, leaving nothing behind.
The time on the spin bike has helped my style and I am striving for the perfectly relaxed upper body and smooth pedal stroke we see messengers display around town.
Now, I reach the crossroads.
If I finish it and go for that last percentage of fitness that is in my person, it will mean having no life at all. I'll be eating baked potatoes with no butter at 7:30 pm and be off to bed by 8:30. It will mean no restaurants, no chips, no Coke, no pizza, no wild holiday parties where I down two to three sodas with reckless abandon, Hoover finger food with no regard to calories or fat content, dance like no one can see me, and stay out until the unheard of hour of 10:30 at night.
It'll mean I'll feel incredible on the bike and crappy everywhere else because when you give the bike everything you got, it takes a lot of things back from you. Like standing, walking, talking, reading, writing, thinking, and feeling healthy.
I'll be doing the old man shuffle around town with the wasted feet, the sore back, the tired legs, the cracked lips from the whipping winter wind, the slight cough from the compromised immune system, and the sore knees from the overuse injuries. As my grandmother always said, "You get nothing for nothing in this world."
I've been to the edge of the razor and I know what that road trip costs, and this time, I'm choosing life, which is the right decision, but feels a little odd, because I haven't done anything categorically insane in more than a year now, and I'm starting to get the hankering.
But in the big picture does it really mean a hill of beans of difference if a 42-year-old, workaday, single father of a righteous Labrador retriever dog-child, recreational cyclist can generate 4.7 watts per kilogram instead of 4.9?
Screw it. For .2 watts per kilogram I choose the interesting life that is behind door number two. I know what's behind door number one, because I've opened that door and walked through it and slammed it shut and lived with the consequences, both serious and sublime. Considering it's the month of November, I shall take a pass. Y'all can have my .2 watts per kilogram. It's my gift to you. But don't get too attached to them. Come spring I may well take them back.
Hope you are well and in shape and fighting off the holiday 7 pound gain that Coach Duggen informs us is the sad fate of most Americans.
The time on the spin bike has helped my style and I am striving for the perfectly relaxed upper body and smooth pedal stroke we see messengers display around town.
Now, I reach the crossroads.
If I finish it and go for that last percentage of fitness that is in my person, it will mean having no life at all. I'll be eating baked potatoes with no butter at 7:30 pm and be off to bed by 8:30. It will mean no restaurants, no chips, no Coke, no pizza, no wild holiday parties where I down two to three sodas with reckless abandon, Hoover finger food with no regard to calories or fat content, dance like no one can see me, and stay out until the unheard of hour of 10:30 at night.
It'll mean I'll feel incredible on the bike and crappy everywhere else because when you give the bike everything you got, it takes a lot of things back from you. Like standing, walking, talking, reading, writing, thinking, and feeling healthy.
I'll be doing the old man shuffle around town with the wasted feet, the sore back, the tired legs, the cracked lips from the whipping winter wind, the slight cough from the compromised immune system, and the sore knees from the overuse injuries. As my grandmother always said, "You get nothing for nothing in this world."
I've been to the edge of the razor and I know what that road trip costs, and this time, I'm choosing life, which is the right decision, but feels a little odd, because I haven't done anything categorically insane in more than a year now, and I'm starting to get the hankering.
But in the big picture does it really mean a hill of beans of difference if a 42-year-old, workaday, single father of a righteous Labrador retriever dog-child, recreational cyclist can generate 4.7 watts per kilogram instead of 4.9?
Screw it. For .2 watts per kilogram I choose the interesting life that is behind door number two. I know what's behind door number one, because I've opened that door and walked through it and slammed it shut and lived with the consequences, both serious and sublime. Considering it's the month of November, I shall take a pass. Y'all can have my .2 watts per kilogram. It's my gift to you. But don't get too attached to them. Come spring I may well take them back.
Hope you are well and in shape and fighting off the holiday 7 pound gain that Coach Duggen informs us is the sad fate of most Americans.
posted by joe berkeley at 4:54 AM
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