Tuesday, February 03, 2009

Bicycles for People Who Are Disturbingly Thin
Constantly Talk About Their Weight

The code of silence is being broken here today. Male cyclists talk about their weight more than Super-Models and Ballerinas. They do not, however talk about their weight more than wrestlers, MMA fighters, boxers, and other very manly men who don't get called "Faggot" by passing motorists and school children on the side of the road. Now I'm going to wake up with a dead horse in my bed tomorrow. And this time it won't be preceded by a night of consuming grain alcohol and huffing industrial strength cleaning products.

Every male cyclist knows what his "fighting weight" is. I ran into an Ex-Pro today who told me (while looking like an emaciated POW) that he had gained 15 pounds since he stopped competing. Seemed almost impossible. I called him a liar and he punched me in the gut, shattering two of my ribs and his radius bone. We held each other for comfort, bawling hysterically while waiting for the paramedics to arrive.

My off-season weight gain may have something to do with my experimental fueling techniques
"Fuel The Fun" , more like "Fuel My Fat Ass".

I'm kind of in the same (gravy) boat and I'm still competing. I don't know what happened early last season but I got down to an insanely low weight. It may have been a parasite, if so I would like to extend an invitation to the wee bugger to come back. Get back in me you little food eater you, make me skinny! I am now about 14 Lbs. heavier than I was then. Of course I had my best rides of the season at weight 5 Lbs. heavier than that, which means I really only need to lose nine...pounds. Nine pounds? Mother F-in Goose! That's like having a rather large baby attached to your body.

I'd get tired carrying a rather large baby around all day, particularly if it were strapped to my mid-section, where I believe the bulk of those nine pounds are housed. I wish I could just have a freakin' baby, it would be a lot easier than cutting down on beer, fried food, pizza, bowls of mayonnaise eaten with a spoon, injecting trans-fats directly into my buttocks, and lying motionless for days at a time watching re-runs of The Facts of Life.

Hulk Hogan boasted about his "24" Pythons". He later testified before congress that they were actually 22". The second part sounds kind of made up to me.

My 20 3/8" Garter Snakes
The other day I mentioned my "Wonky Leg". My left leg is significantly shorter than my right and I just found out about it a year ago. The resulting adaptation my body went through left that leg well..."Wonky" for lack of a non-Bobke-Dictionary-Approved word. My left leg used to be visibly smaller in diameter. The other day I took a measuring tape to my quads to see if this was still the case. Despite the fact that my left leg is still not feeling like it is 100% it measured the same as my right, a whopping 20 3/8". Hulk Hogan's arms were much larger than my legs. I feel small. I am small....brother.

Keeping an eye on my Wonky Leg in the mirror while watching "Rocky Balboa". My new tactic for dealing with my hatred of the trainer is to watch a film while on the trainer which is more horrible than the trainer itself. I spend the entire session looking up at the T.V. and going "God! This sucks" then looking down at the trainer and going "God! You suck".

You said it man, not me. No wait, I said it man, not you. It's that time of year. You're getting ready for work, if you're me you're running late, you've put on your bibs, undershirt, base layer, mid-layer, heavy layer, shell, tights, leg warmers, shoes and shoe covers, balaclava, hat, glasses, helmet, your earphones are in, the music is cranked, you're walking out the door, you're out the door, maybe even getting on your bike, and you're going "Hmm, something's happening...am I going to keep it together the whole way to work? I do not want to strip back down and...God Damnit!". Then you're back in the house, taking off nine layers of clothing and running to the bathroom.

Not an excuse for tardiness (I don't feel tardy) that most employers would accept. Good thing I work at a bike shop.


Anonymous said...

Of course 10 seconds after reading this post I was standing in my living room with my pants around my knees--this would be a weird post if I left it off here--with a tape measure. Then I had no idea where to measure a quad. Thanks to Beth I was all set: http://bethbikes.blogspot.com/2007/08/q-quads.html. This is for those who need instructions--and if anyone finds a mug shot of Beth let me know.

Anonyma (it's german--really)

the original big ring said...

baaaah - I eat a container of organic peanut butter a week. Could explain my girth . . . but what are you going to do, give up peanut butter or som'in? Not likely!