05.21.2012 | 5:04 am
For me it was a very basic reason, for my health. In the fall of 2009 I weighed close to 500 lbs. I had no idea my weight had climbed so high, but there it was. There was a weight loss competition at work which I joined and proceeded to lose almost 60 lbs. over the next 6 months.
It felt good. I was simply watching what I ate, but it didn’t seem like enough, I had to get active. I was still 430 lbs, and there was no way I was going to run. The truth was even walking from the car to the door would find me short of breath. Then I found Fatty’s blog and I thought to myself, that’s it!
I remembered the freedom riding in my youth had afforded me
and figured I could have fun and get healthy and lose weight all at the same time.
Now my dilemma was that I didn’t have a bike. Sure there had been an old one sitting in the garage several years and several moves ago, but that was long gone.
I had thought about getting a road bike, but thought that with my weight that probably wasn’t a good idea.
I decided to go with a name we all trusted from our youth – Schwinn. I found a deal on a Landmark Cruiser and got it.
I was excited when it arrived and couldn’t wait to assemble it and get riding. That’s when reality set in yet again – I was very out of shape and could barely ride 3 miles on my new bike before I was spent, but the funny thing was, I didn’t mind it because I enjoyed riding! It brought back all those feelings of freedom from my youth.
I’ve stuck with it, often getting up at 4:00 am to get in rides and am loving it. Six months after starting to ride again I actually completed a Sprint Triathlon here in Las Vegas!
Thank you Fatty, you were the inspiration that got me back on the bike after a 20+ year hiatus.
PS from Fatty: Don’t forget, the contest to win a trip and a bike, all while fighting cancer, is still on. Click here for info on the trip, then click here for information on the bikes, and click here to donate. Thanks!
Comments (23)
05.11.2012 | 12:34 pm
A “Hey, Come Eat and then Race With Me” Note from Fatty: Perhaps the funnest race I have ever done was the Rockwell Relay: Moab to St. George. Seriously, it was a blast. Just go read my race report and you’ll see why I loved it so much.
Well, Team Fatty (Kenny, Heather, The Hammer and I) will be racing it again this year (June 8 – 9), defending our Coed team title.
And you should come join us, for the following reasons:
- You will have an awesome time. I am not even remotely kidding when I say that this is a fantastic race.
- The scenery is incredible. You’ll be doing a combination of riding and driving on surface roads from Moab, UT to St. George, UT. It’s beautiful. Astonishingly so. Of course, part of the time it’s so dark you can’t see anything but the stars, but a starry night with no noise polution is a pretty amazing thing, too.
- You get a deal, just because you’re a Friend of Fatty. The Rockwell Relay is now in “late registration” mode; most teams signing up will have to pay an extra $50 fee. But if you email info@rockwellrelay.com and tell them you’re a Friend of Fatty, they’ll give you a special registration link waiving that fee.
- I will serve you bratwurst, which I myself will have grilled. OK, I saved the best part for last, and put it in red, just to draw your eye to it. The Rockwell Relay guys recently called me and asked what I would do to make the race even more awesome. Nothing came to mind, so as a joke I said, “Serve my famous brats the night before the race.” To my amazement, they were all over this idea. So I told them that if they did this, I’d come over and take charge of grilling the brats and would serve them up.
So. Come on over. Eat. Race. Hang out with us. You will love it.
Another Note from Fatty: Today, I have a very special edition of Free Verse Friday. Which is not to say that any edition of Free Verse Friday is not special, but this one is very special indeed.
“Why is it so very special?” you might ask.
“It’s special,” I would answer, “Because it has actual information about stuff that’s coming up. Good stuff. Important stuff. Stuff you might actually want to be a part of.
So be sure to read it not only for its artistic merit (which is very great), but for the information contained therein.
Impending Panic: An Epic Free Verse Poem, In Informational Stanzas
Soon I shall travel
A much greater distance
Than I even knew there was
Zambia!
I will give away bikes
And bring back stories
I can hardly wait.
Twixt now and then, alas
I have so much to do
So much to prepare
I wince
Mayhaps I would moan and whimper
If I were not so manly
Guest Writers
While I am gone
In a far-off land
I cannot — will not! — expect to write
With any regularity
Or perhaps at all
So I ask you
Dear reader
To do my work for me
Two themes I give you
Write a story on one
Or the other
Or both if that’s your way
The themes are
“Why I started riding”
and
“How I got someone else to start riding”
Email your stories to fatty@fatcyclist.com
Thank you.
LiveStrong
The Davis LiveStrong Challenge is coming!
I’m working on cool incentives and contests
I shall explain more anon
You’ll want to be a part of it.
Honest, you will.
Thank you.
100 Miles of Nowhere
If you signed up
Your stuff is being packaged even as you read this
Soon, it will be on its way
Furthermore
If you’re local
Plan to do the 100 Miles of Nowhere with me
It will be awesome
I hope
Thank you.
And again, thank you.
Comments (27)
05.9.2012 | 10:26 am
A Note from Fatty: Last Saturday, The Hammer raced the Provo City Marathon; I rode my bike along the same route, leapfrogging her and cheering her along the way. Obviously, this resulted in two very different experiences.
Let’s start with The Hammer’s.
The Hammer’s Story: The Best Cheering Section…And The Marathon Wasn’t Half Bad, Either
The day started bright and early, well, maybe not bright-it was 3:45 when the alarm went off. I rolled out of bed after a pretty good Ambien induced slumber. I was starting to get the obligatory pre race jitters and new I would be spending some quality time with “john” before we would head out the door at 4:30.
Yes, I did say “we.”
My sweet husband, Elden had volunteered to get up at this ungodly hour and drive me to the race start. I kept telling him that he didn’t have to do this; he could sleep in. He had had a really stressful work week and could surely use a few extra hours of sleep. I assured him multiple times that I was capable of getting myself to the starting line.
Elden would hear none of this and insisted he would drive me. Not only would he drive me to the starting line, but he was also insisting that he would ride his bike along the course and cheer me on the whole way. Wow, my own personal cheering section — how could I refuse?
At 5:15, we arrived at the bus pickup in Provo where I met my good friend and coworker Ed. Ed was going to run the 1/2 marathon which started at the same location as the marathon and we would be able to ride the bus to the starting line together.
Ed is a remarkable person. A few years ago, Ed had gastric bypass surgery and has now lost at least a person in weight. He is the poster child for gastric bypass as he continues to keep the weight off. He has become quite the runner in the process and has participated in many 5K and half marathon races.
Way to go Ed, you are an inspiration!
The Hammer and Ed before the race.
We said goodbye to Elden and boarded the buses at about 6:00am. Elden’s plan was to change clothes, jump on his bike and ride to the mouth of Provo Canyon where he would meet up with my son Blake (aka the IT guy). They would then ride to Vivian Park and wait for me to run by.
The race organizers did a great job at the starting line. There were fires set up for warming us, plenty of loud music, and a crowd taking their pre-race jitters out on a piñata. And — most importantly — there were plenty of potties.
There was a nice chill in the air and very little wind. South Fork Park was beautiful this early spring morning.
I was surprised as the marathon group lined up. I would guess there were only a couple hundred runners, and probably a thousand half-marathoners. Definitely a different size of crowd than the 23,000 runners at Boston!
The marathon race started promptly at 7:00 am, followed by the half marathon at 7:15. I started with the 3:25 pace group, running at 7:49 minutes per mile.
[Side note about pacers: For those of you unfamiliar with marathons, most marathons have "pacers" -- experienced runners who will carry a sign while they run the race in a specific time. If you need a 3:25 to qualify for Boston, for example, or you have a time goal of 3:25, then you can run with that pacer's group. The pacer does NOT stop at aid stations for drinks or outhouses for potty breaks. He just continually runs. Pace groups are great for people who have a time goal or who have a hard time pacing themselves.]
I started out with the 3:25 group, but had no intention of staying with them the whole race. I knew I could keep up with them for the first few miles because it’s all downhill. My plan worked out perfectly and I exited South Fork Canyon just as the 3:25 pace group passed me.
As I ran through Vivian Park — the first place Elden and Blake were supposed to be cheering for me — I quickly scanned the aid station and the ten people there cheering on the runners.
They weren’t there! Oh no. If they missed me here, would they ever find me as the thousand runners behind me exited the canyon?
But then, just as I was thinking this, I heard cowbells for the first of many times that day. Elden and Blake were just around the bend. They hadn’t calculated the time right and didn’t think they would make it to Vivian Park in time, so set up a little further down the path.
My cheering section had found me!
The Hammer discards the sweatshirt she wore for the first few miles.
The next 5 miles were down Provo Canyon on a great bike path. I know this path well; It was my training route for many years, back when I lived in Orem. I was feeling great and I was keeping the 3:25 pace group in sight.
The 3:25 pace group must have been sad as I drifted off the the back and they lost the perpetual cheering section of Elden and Blake.
Elden and Blake would ride about a mile ahead, get off their bikes, and start cheering and ringing their cowbells. I could hear the cowbells and know they were close by. What a great motivator! As I passed, I would high-five them and Elden would yell words of encouragement.
The Hammer puts her hand out for a high-five as she runs by.
At mile ten, my dad even came out and cheered me on! Thanks Dad!
The halfway point of the marathon is — naturally — the end of the half marathon, and is on center street in Provo. As I ran by the finish line, I felt a little sad that I wasn’t running across the finish line. It’s funny how much of running is mental. When I ran the Moab half-marathon a few weeks ago, I was exhausted when I crossed the finish line. I couldn’t imagine running another 13 miles!
But as I crossed the halfway point on this day, I felt great. I looked down at my watch: 1:43. Wow, not a bad time for a half marathon!
Elden had left me about a block before the finish line/half way mark so he wouldn’t get in the way of people finishing the race. He said he would catch up with me in a little while.
Blake, meanwhile, had gotten bored and left. He said he would find us at the finish line. I didn’t blame him; riding your bike at a runners pace for 26 miles does not sound like the way I want to spend my Saturday morning. I was grateful for his smiling face and expertise at ringing a cowbell! Thanks Blake!
The first six miles of this race had been downhill, but then it had leveled off and become flat by mile thirteen, and continues flat until the finish — relatively flat for a Utah marathon. Now, leaving the crowds at the finish line, the road went up over an overpass — the only “climbing” for the day.
As I descended the overpass, I realized my feet were killing me! The reason was simple: the last three or four miles had been on a concrete road. I couldn’t believe what a difference there is running on concrete vs pavement. We turned, and I was glad we were off the concrete and back on chipseal (chipseal may be terrible for road biking, but it’s fantastic for running).
The next 6 miles would be run through neighborhoods as we made our way toward Utah lake. Once we arrived at the lake we would get back on the Provo River Bike Path and head east back toward the finish line.
As I approached mile 15, the marathon blues started to descend upon me. My feet hurt, and my hamstrings and calves felt like they were on the verge of cramping up.
“What am I doing here,” I thought to myself. “Running marathons suck! Why does anybody run them?” I couldn’t figure out how in the world I was going to make it another 11 miles! I was just going to have to walk.
I was sure all those people behind me were going to start to pass me–how demoralizing that would be! Elden would see me walking when I was supposed to be having a great race! He would be so disappointed in me.
Thank heavens Blake wasn’t around- He thinks im tough, he’d be so disappoointed. And then I heard the cowbell in the distance! “Oh crap,” I thought. “Elden is back! What am I to do?”
“Hey Baby, you’re looking good!” said Elden.
“Clang, clang, clang” said the cow bell.
“You’re not being helpful,” said the grumpy runner.
That’s what I said to my darling husband who got up at 3:45 in the morning and who had been cheering me on for 2 hours! What a brat!
But I couldn’t really say anything else, I was physically exhausted and quite possibly dying!
“Is the bell too much? I’m sorry, I won’t ring it anymore,” chimed Elden.
And he proceeded to be happy and cheerful and tell me stories about people he had met on his bike…blah, blah, blah.
And the thought occurred to me that I must have sounded just like this to Elden when we were running Boston. I was happy and cheerful and talkative. Elden was not. Elden was feeling this same exhaustion and pain while we were running Boston that I was feeling now. I had a new found love and sympathy for what Elden was going through so he could be with me at Boston. What a wonderful guy!
“I’m bonking bad, Elden, I need a gel!”
“One gel coming right up!” and he produced a gel and some water and an “I love you.”
Gel may feel and taste disgusting going down, but its effect is magic. Within a few minutes, I was back. My feet stopped hurting and the blues were on their way out!
“Thanks Elden, but dont be mad if I can’t talk. I’m pretty tired.”
“I completely understand, Baby, You just keep running and I will just keep talking…if it’s helpful.”
Feel free to take a few moments to admire and envy The Hammer’s legs.
The next few miles flew by and soon I was back on the bike path headed toward the finish line–only six miles to go.
At one point I found myself alone. Well, I wasn’t completely alone. I could see one guy about 25 yards a head of me, but alone in the sense that Elden was a way behind me, talking to a different runner and I was out of cheering section for a moment. Then I heard a cowbell approaching. I thought it was the return of Elden, but was surprised to see Blake riding up to me.
Blake (The IT Guy) snaps a picture of his mom (The hammer) as she runs by.
“Mom, you look great!” Blake said.
“I do? I don’t really feel that great.”
“Well you look way better than the 200 people I just passed while I was looking for you. They all look like they are dying.”
It was sure a good thing that Blake didn’t see me 8 miles ago when I was the one about to die. My secret is still safe (I think). Blake still thinks I’m tough!
The last few miles I had a tailwind. It is amazing what a little wind on your rear can do for your momentum and spirits. Blake and Elden soon veered off the path and headed for the finish line. They wanted to be on the line when I crossed. I looked down at my watch–only one mile to go. I thought I had this in the bag until I rounded the last corner and saw the overpass!
“Crap,” I thought. “I have to go up and over that again.”
I slowed to a walk. How could I have forgotten about that? I passed a man who was walking on the sidewalk; he gave me a curious smile. At that moment, I interpreted his smile as a smirk. In my mind, the man was saying “Girl, you are almost at the finish line–it’s just over that incline and you are walking? What a wimp!”
That did it! I picked up the pace and finished strong! Elden was at the finish line greeting me with a giant hug and kiss! I collapsed in his arms–exhausted. 3 hours, 36 minutes. Not quite my fastest time, but pretty close to it! I couldn’t have done it without a fantastic cheering section!
Both glad the race is over: The IT Guy and The Hammer.
Thanks Elden and Blake, for pushing me and cheering me on during the highs and lows! I love you guys!
Fatty’s Story: Marathons Are Fun And Easy
I have little to add to The Hammer’s excellent narrative. And by “little,” I of course mean “a surprisingly large amount, due to the fact that I seem to be unable to ever shut up and let well enough alone.”
- It was fun to watch The Hammer actually hammer. It’s very strange that up until last Saturday, I had never watched The Hammer run a race. That’s because up to this point, she had always convinced me to run the race along with her, which meant that either she would be running way below her ability, or she’d be way ahead of me and I wouldn’t see her anyway. This time, though, I’d get to see her run, for more than the few moments it took for her to pull away from me at the starting line.
- I was excited to be at a running race, but on a bike. I anticipated that there would be something deliciously evil about being on a bike at a marathon. To be comfortably lollygagging along, leapfrogging the very fastest runners, without even breaking a sweat.
- Running makes you emotional. I’ve ridden my bike for 20 hours straight before. I was exhausted and hallucinating, but I still felt like myself — friendly, stable, and silly (the three characteristics I self-define with). Whenever I’ve gone on a long run, I’ve become much more emotional than usual. It was reassuring to see that The Hammer has to confront some bugaboos on hard runs, too.
- Cowbells are awesome. When The Hammer and I were in Boston, Philly Jen gave us a bunch of little Boston Marathon-branded cowbells. One of these easily fits in a jersey pocket, and Blake and I used them the whole day. Cowbells are awesome because they’re louder than clapping and yelling, and hurt way less when used for an extended period of time.
- Racers love spectators. Of course, I was at the race for The Hammer, but I cheered for — and occasionally rode alongside — everyone and anyone. And after the race, at least half a dozen racers came up to me and expressed gratitude for me bing there and cheering them on. It makes me think: anyone who has ever benefitted from cheering spectators needs to find time to be a cheering spectator sometimes, thus paying the good karma forward.
- Small races are great. Of course, the iconic marathons like NYC and Boston have their obvious appeal, but a tiny race like (fewer than 300 runners!) like the Provo City Marathon made it possible for me to — without difficulty — constantly leapfrog the runners, either by taking a different street to the next place I’d stop to cheer for them, or sometimes just riding ahead of — and even alongside — them.
- The Hammer is modest. The Hammer doesn’t mention in her story that she took a podium spot in her age group: third. She also doesn’t mention that her time across the line at the halfway spot for her marathon was fast enough that she would have taken first in her age group for the half marathon.
- Everyone has an interesting story. I sometimes stopped and cheered for people who were racing, and sometimes I would randomly pick a person racing and ride alongside her or him for a few minutes, just chatting. And you know what? There’s not a single person out there who doesn’t have an interesting story to tell. The world might be a better place if we all took the time to talk to more strangers (but don’t tell that to your kids, I guess).
- Riding 40 miles, slowly, over the course of four hours, is easy. Between riding from the finish line to where we first caught up with The Hammer to leapfrogging and riding along racers, I put in about 40 road miles on my mountain bike (mountain biking shoes are much better if you’re going to be getting off your bike and standing around a bunch) that morning. But it was such slow miles that I didn’t feel like I had gotten any kind of workout from it. So after I brought The Hammer home, I got back on my bike and went mountain biking for a couple hours.
- This item placed because people like lists of 10 better than lists of 9. Have you ever considered how much of our world is governed by the fact that most of us have ten fingers? How would the world be different if we had fourteen? Something to think about.
And in short, I look forward to spectating in the future, as The Hammer crushes other running events.
PS: I really like how my sister Jodi (Pistols and Popcorn) is helping a reader of hers (Amy) get treatment for MS. Check out Jodi’s post from yesterday, and then maybe go find $5 to help Amy too.
Comments (30)
05.7.2012 | 10:33 am
Today’s story shall be told mostly in pictures.
Here are Kenny and I last year, after racing the Tour de Donut.
Apart from the magnificently appropriate backdrop of the line of portapotties, my favorite thing about this photo is . . . me.
I look fantastic.
Yes, in spite of the fact that I had just eaten ten donuts, I look great. Leadville was just a month away and — while I didn’t know it for sure — I was light (about 156 pounds, if I remember correctly) and fit enough that a sub-9 was looking entirely possible.
And a few weeks later, I’d cross the Leadville finish line in 8:18:01, looking like this:
Ecstatic, for sure. Salty, certainly. And my teeth were just a little bit on the grimy side:
Importantly, though, in an unposed picture — one where I did not have time to suck my gut in — my stomach looked like this:
To be sure, there are people who look a lot skinnier (and better) in bike jerseys, but for me, this is about as good as it gets.
So. Let’s fast-forward to the present, shall we?
Here’s a photo The IT Guy took during the first few miles of the 2012 RAWROD:
OK, now let’s zoom in on me a little closer.
Yeah. That’s . . . um . . . not good (and I’m not talking about the fact that at the moment I was in possession of The Daisy).
How did this happen? In a couple of ways.
The Tragedy of Self-Delusion
The Hammer and I both came off of last year so fast and fit that we somehow thought that we’d be that way forever (so far, she has retained and built on that strength and fitness; you can see that I have not). So we set ourselves the most challenging race season ever:
- The Crusher in the Tushar: 69 miles, a ridiculous amount of climbing, big parts of the ride on road, big parts of it on dirt.
- The Leadville 100: I think I’ve talked enough about this race for one lifetime.
- The Breck Epic: The main event of the season. Six freaking days of mountain bike racing on high-altitude singletrack. This will start the day after the Leadville 100, so that’s a nice long recovery period.
So you’d think I’d start getting myself in shape and stuff. Which leads to the second, most important reason I’ve managed to let myself go to fat like this.
Fit-Fat
I am currently the very picture of a physical state that may be impossible for any sport but cycling:
I am Fit-Fat.
Which is to say, thanks to a nice dry winter, I kept on riding. My legs and lungs are actually really great right now (see picture above). I was able to ride the White Rim in one day, on a singlespeed, without particular difficulty, and I felt good enough that I went riding again the next day.
That’s the “Fit” part of Fit-Fat.
The “Fat” part is because I am part bear. Which is to say, when it’s winter, I eat a lot. And I have to fight a near-constant urge to climb into a cave and sleep for a couple months.
The danger of being Fit-Fat is that it kinda sneaks up on you. Winter comes and goes, but you’re still wearing the larger, loose-fitting jerseys, which you used to tell yourself you needed to wear because you had a base layer underneath. But deep down, you know that you’re wearing them because the so-called “base layer” is just a big ol’ gut.
And you find reasons to not get on the scale.
But because you’re strong and have a good aerobic base, you can — in general — still hang with everyone one during the group rides. Sure, you work harder on the climbs, but you’ve got the legs to make it work.
And then full-blown Spring arrives, with Summer hot on its heels. And there is no hiding. If everyone else is Fit, being Fit-Fat isn’t enough.
I’ve got to lose some major weight, pronto. Or I’m going to be writing stories about how The Hammer had to wait for me at the aid stations at the Breck Epic.
That prospect does not delight me.
Comments (51)
05.4.2012 | 8:01 am
A Note from Fatty : David Dougher — A friend of a friend — is designing an online multiplayer game called Oncolos. Players take on the role of one of four different races and joins the battle of an invading scourge (cancer) which is bent on the corruption and destruction of the world in which they live.
Originally, David says, Oncolos “was created to help my wife with her cancer. It was designed with the idea, originally, of it being a two-player game just for us. But as I started working on it, I realized more people would benefit from it than just her, so I decided to expand it into a project that’s multiplayer.”
“The big benefit of it,” says Dougher, “Is simply that it lets the cancer patient know that they’re not alone.”
To start developing this project in earnest, Dougher has started this Kickstarter page, where you can help finance this very cool game idea. Click here to learn more about Oncolos, or click here to go to the Oncolos Kickstarter page.
I’ve often said that everyone find ways to use what they love to do and what they’re good at to join the fight against cancer. David Dougher proves this in an awesome way.
The Relishment of a Race Not Raced
Two races tomorrow
One in St. George
One in Provo
Two races tomorrow
And sweet rapture in my breast today
Rapture, whence thou?
I ask rhetorically, for I already know!
I am glad in my heart for reasons clear and true
I shall race neither!
Tomorrow, I race not at all!
(Sometimes I wish there were a punctuation more emphatic than the exclamation point)
I know people who race St. Geroge Ironman tomorrow
They shall converse with demons within and without
I think of them and envy them not one whit
Not one!
Maybe not even half a whit!
And then
I think of The Hammer
Who races a local marathon anon
Do I envy her?
Hell no!
Which is to say
No hell for me tomorrow
I shall ride my bike from place to place
Cheering The Hammer on
Admiring her strength
Admiring her speed
Glad for her
Supporting her
For she is doing what she loves
And I am glad for me
For reasons adequately explained above
I wish all racers luck tomorrow
And sleep tonight.
Thank you.
Comments (41)
