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July 6, 2003. We had just arrived home from a weekend camping trip at the Sacramento Delta with our Bay Area friends, and what a weekend it was. Beer for days, chips and salsa and veritable plethora of cookies. I was thankful to get a breather from Tao Jones' busy gig schedule and I treated myself to whatever I felt like treating myself to. But we were home now and it was time to get into the shower before unwinding.
I looked in the mirror and could barely believe the dude I saw lookig back at me. Did I get bitten by some insect? My face looked really puffy! I took off my shirt and unfortunately, my belly matched my face. I had gotten fat. I noticed it before, when I was Photoshopping the digital pics from our wedding in Hawaii, but I didn't think it had gotten that bad. Well it did, I was disgusted.
I went to the garage and took my bike off the rack. It was in pretty sorry shape, dusty except where I had hung some towels to dry after washing the car. The drivetrain was caked in grease and dirt and the cables were starting to rust. Stupid me, I had spent a lot of money on that bike when I got diorced in order to help me keep my sanity. And now I had abandoned it like another piece of unused furniture.
Back inside I found Monique and asked her "do you think I'm fat?". She turned to me with a look of concern and said "I'm more worried about your health than your appearance". She was right. In the past few months leading to that day I was napping more than usual. I didn't have the same energy I used to have and I blamed it on "getting older". I skipped workouts at the gym and I chose sweets over fruit regularly. Given the history of heart disease and diabetes in my family one would think I should have known better. I did, but it was so easy to have just one more cookie, or seconds of a big greasy meal. Monique told me that her biggest fear was losing me early to heart disease. This was the first time she said anything to me about that and I knew she was serious. I wasn't like I was going to die tommorrow, but all that bad eating was killing me slowly. It could take a few years or fifty, but it was not going to be pretty if I let it go.
I dusted my bike off and cleaned the chain. Then I got into my cycling shorts, which I now spilled over emphatically. I pulled on the biggest jersey I could find, filled up two water bottles and strapped on my shoes. Then I started out for what I thought would be an easy spin to Folsom. 16 miles round trip, no problem. Oh yeah? By the time I got to Folsom I was ready to puke. And I felt very self-conscious the entire way because I know that lycra does not lie - I looked like a big blue blob on a fancy bike. I loathed people like that - buy the fanciest bike they can, even though they can't ride worth a damn. Now I was one of them and that made me feel awful. Partly because of how I looked and felt and partly because of my unjust bias. Nothing like walking in someone else's shoes to humble you. And on top of all that, I physically felt like hell, suffering from cramps and loss of breath on every little rise, every extended flat. The only time I felt good was when I was going down a hill, the only time gravity was on my side.
But that was my punishment, to look pathetic and to ride pathetically as penance for my sins of indulgence. I would get on my bike every day for the next two weeks in self-flagellation, reluctantly embracing the junkyard my body had become and swearing through my physical suffering that I would never let myself go that far again.
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Author's Note: I wrote this article in the Fall of 2004 and since then I have received great feedback and a request to make it more available. Since then, I've lapsed into some old (bad) habits but I'm on my way back. A new "Re-Reinventing the Cyclist" is in the works. For now, I hope you can find some nugget of usefulness from this archive. - Carlo