03.29.2012 | 5:55 am
A Note from Fatty to Weight-Loss Challenge Contestants: The Week 2 Weigh-In has begun! Head on over to this page on the Challenge Forum to post your results; follow the instructions there. Be sure to do your weigh-in by Sunday. If you don’t, you won’t be eligible for prizes this week.
Last weekend, The Hammer and I went on a road ride with some friends — Lynette and Cory, along with their daughter Mackenzie — who had just gotten back from an awesome vacation in New Zealand. They had been there to do the New Zealand Ironman, which — due to gale-force winds — had been canceled, with a half-Ironman taking its place the following day.
Lynette and Mackenzie went ahead and did the half; Cory watched. “I didn’t have anything to prove by doing another half-Ironman,” he said, which is a completely understandable point of view if you’ve done as many triathlons as Cory.
So they hung around in NZ for a couple weeks, enjoying the beautiful country and having an adventure instead of recovering from a brutally difficult race.
And this gave me an idea for a new event. I think it’s going to be a huge hit.
The Evil Epic 250: The Hardest Race In The World
I think I am going to create a new race, which I will call The Evil Epic 250. I think you’ll agree, it’s an awesome name for a race: it sounds incredibly difficult (it’s 250 miles, for crying out loud! Even hard races only go 100 miles; this goes twice as far as those other so-called epics, which are really nothing more than pretenders. And then, just for good measure, it goes another 50 miles, just to underscore its point) and slightly terrifying (even the race organizer thinks it’s evil, not to mention epic).
I haven’t figured out where the race will be yet. Or whether the race will be on dirt or pavement (or both). Those are small details I can work out later. I guess.
Whereever the race is, I can guarantee you it will be in an exotic, hard to reach location. One that’s kind of intimidating-sounding maybe, and is perhaps known for its beautiful natives and poisonous, sharp-toothed fish. Oh, and rugged terrain and tall mountains.
I’ll bet there’s a place like that somewhere. It’s a big world.
The race description — which will be on my professionally-designed website, complete with numerous photographs and well-written marketing copy — will make it clear that this is not a race you take on on a whim. This is a serious race, one that most people could never even contemplate finishing.
Even to enter this race — which my site will claim is capped at 1000 elite-level entrants — suggests something about you: that you are an adventurer. A risk-taker. An athlete of the highest order.
I will list several professional (and former professional) cyclists who will be at this race, hoping to win (or perhaps take a podium spot) as the crowning moment of their illustrious career.
You will register for it. You will register for it, and begin obsessing about it immediately.
Training and Planning
Before long, The Evil Epic 250 will consume your every waking moment. You will train, nearly non-stop. You will become stronger than you could have imagined possible. Your endurance will be legendary among your officemates.
Acquaintances will begin to whisper that you have changed. That there is a new fierceness about your demeanor. A new sort of lust for life. An intensity that belies your hearty laugh and athletic swagger.
Perhaps a rumor will spread that you have the eye of the tiger. When confronted with this rumor, you will smile your new quiet, confident, intensity-laden smile and say, “I just hope to do my best in The Evil Epic 250.”
When you encounter other cyclists and they ask you what you are training for so assiduously, you will tell them, The Evil Epic 250, and they will be so awestruck that they will forget that the reason they asked you that question was so that you would return the question and they could boast about their own upcoming event — their own upcoming event which suddenly sounds quite un-epic and in fact kind of weenie-like.
You will find it necessary to purchase special clothing and cycling equipment for this race. You will not begrudge these purchases, because they are things you wanted to buy anyway, but had — to this point — foregone because they were not strictly necessary. The Evil Epic 250, however, gives you a reason — not to be confused with an excuse — to purchase those items. With a clear conscience.
You will train with purpose, intensity, and endurance. Each ride will take on meaning. You are not just doing hill repeats; you are preparing for the race of a lifetime. You are not just out on a long, seven-hour ride on beautiful single track; you are building endurance and increasing your technical skills.
You are not just relaxing and watching TV; you are recovering.
And when you are not training, you will be planning. You will consider every detail, every possibility, and have a strategy that takes it into account. And of course, you will spend no small amount of time telling others of your plans.
Don’t worry, people will never get tired of it.
The Race Itself
Finally, the day of the Evil Epic 250 will arrive. You will travel to the aforementioned exotic, beautiful, far-off place. Or perhaps you will just be planning to leave within the next day or so.
Either way, there will be a stunning and tragic development: Due to unforeseen and impossibly tragic adverse conditions such as the biggest tornado in the history of the world, followed by a volcano eruption and a meteor strike that left nothing but a really windy crater filled with lava where the race course used to be, the race has been canceled.
Oh, the tragedy! All that work, all that training! And now you don’t get to do the race!
“Damn it!” You will swear, and people will know you are very angry, because you rarely resort to such coarse language.
Except — deep down — you will be secretly grateful that the race has been canceled, because now you get to have done the best parts of a race — training for it and thinking about it and planning for it — without having to endure the worst part of a race: actually racing it.
Outwardly, of course, you will be disappointed, though stoically so. People will admire your stoicism and your philosophical approach to catastrophes. “There’s always next year,” you will say, with a twinkle in your eye.
And you’ll still get the t-shirt and finisher’s medal.
PS: Secretly, I hope that I’m not the first person who has come up with this idea, and that this is what is actually happening for The Breck Epic.
Comments (31)
03.26.2012 | 10:04 am
One of the reasons I love cycling is because it allows me to maintain the self-image I prefer, as opposed to the one I really ought to have.
Allow me to explain.
A Sock, And the Putting Thereof
Before The Hammer was The Hammer, she was The Runner. And yet, she was not just a runner. She was a cyclist, too. She started cycling long before she and I got together. Indeed, she was an accomplished cyclist, having completed Lotoja (a 200+ mile race) and The Leadville 100, multiple times.
But — and I say this with all the humility a beloved internet celebrity cycling superstar can say without seeming falsely humble or perhaps even condescending — I was a better cyclist than she was.
Yes, I was both faster and had more endurance. She and I both knew who the alpha rider was, and that was me.
[Side note: while I am most certainly thumping my chest right now, it is with a certain amount of charming irony and a smidgen of foreshadowing of a contrasting situation that will make you love me even more than you do already, if that's possible.]
So anyways, sometimes we’d go on rides together, and I’d push her a little bit, for a long time. Not in a huge way, mind you.
No, more in much subtler, insidious ways.
Like, when we were riding side by side, I would keep my front wheel about half a length ahead of hers. As if to say, “Hey, if you want to go just a little faster, I’m up for it.”
Or — much worse — I’d be relentlessly cheerful. No matter how long we had been out, I always had something nice to say about the ride. If a big climb was coming up, I’d talk about how much I like climbing. If we were in the flats, I’d go on about how there’s nothing for endurance and power like turning the cranks over and over in the flats.
If I was exhausted, it was a good exhaustion.
This kind of behavior, I am sure you will agree, is not annoying at all, to anyone. And so I was incredibly surprised when, at the top of a short-but-painful climb, I turned to tell her how amazingly cooked I was and how much I love cycling for the way it can leave you completely ruined, when she spoke first.
“Don’t start,” The Runner said. “Just put a sock in it.”
As a man who knows when a woman is not kidding around even a tiny little bit, I put a sock in it.
But honestly, I did not get it. I had not been anything but pleasant during the ride. She had no reason to suspect that I was going to say anything offensive or mean or anything. Hey, I’m Fatty, for crying out loud. I never say anything mean or offensive.
And as long as I was being honest, I didn’t understand how anyone could be angry while on a bike anyway. When I’m on a bike, I’m happy. It’s really as simple as that. I can be tired, hungry and hurting on a bike, but there’s still a chunk of my brain that says, “Yeah, but I’m tired, hungry and hurting on a bike, so it’s cool.”
So why was I riding with a metaphorical sock in my mouth? What had I done wrong?
The Gaining of Understanding
It’s no secret that, as a wonderful person who wants to be supportive of his wife, I have tried to take up running. I believe I have documented at least a little bit about how well that’s gone. For example, I’ve talked about how I totally crushed the Death Valley Marathon. And how I just flew when running the 2010 NYC Marathon. And then there was the Ogden Marathon, where I discovered that I’m more than half an hour faster if the course is downhill.
And now, in (much!) less than a month, we’re doing the Boston Marathon (The Hammer is doing it because she’s fast and qualified to run it, I’m doing it as part of Team LiveStrong).
So I’ve been running again. Training for another marathon.
The experience has been memorable. In particular, I remember the following:
I remember an exquisite sense of humiliation. A couple weeks ago, we were doing an 18-mile training run. Around mile 12, I started slowing, and there was nothing I could do about it. I tried speeding up, but simply could not.
In fact, at mile 13, The Hammer changed over to a walk. “Why are you walking?” I asked.
“Because you’re running slower than I walk,” she answered, without irony.
And it was true. I was taking run-like steps and making a run-like motion with my arms, but I was going at a pace so slow that any mallwalker would have gapped me.
“Just go on,” I said. And I really meant it. The Hammer is the fastest she’s ever been right now — she’s really stepped up her running game lately — and I didn’t want to hold her back.
“No, I’ll stay with you. We’ll walk a minute and then continue running, she said.”
I remember despair. We started running again, and — before another mile had gone by — the strangest sound came out of my mouth: something that sounded remarkably like a sob.
I was surprised by the sound. Not that a sob-like sound had come out of me, but that I had somehow let this sound — that so accurately represented how I felt — escape.
I stifled it before another could come out.
“What was that?” The Hammer asked.
“I don’t think I can go another four miles,” I told her. “I really don’t.”
And I looked down and away, because I didn’t want her to see that I was crying. That I was totally beaten.
We agreed she should go on ahead and finish the run, then come back and get me in a car; meanwhile I would try to get as far as I could.
When The Hammer picked me up, I was at mile 16.
I have never been so happy to give up in my entire life.
Epiphany
What is my point? An easy, simple, short one: I think running has made me a better cyclist. Which is to say, a more understanding cyclist. Before, I had been riding for so long that I had honestly forgotten how it feels to be completely, truly beaten by something. To be so tired and sore that you start taking it personally.
You don’t feel an interested, ironic amusement at your tiredness. You feal destroyed.
It’s good — once it’s over — to be reminded exactly how hard something can be.
Comments (28)
03.22.2012 | 7:52 am
Oh, hi there! I wish I had time to write something good today, but I don’t. Which is too bad, because I’ve got a good topic I want to write about and everything.
Which, when it’s winter and there isn’t a lot of riding to be had on a daily basis, is not that common of a thing to come by.
The thing is, I have a regular old job. And that job — like many jobs — gets pretty intense sometimes. And lately it’s gotten pretty intense a lot more often than it used to.
Almost as if they want me to work for my pay or something. The nerve!
Anyway, this is going to be a shortish post, and mostly interesting to people who are in the weight loss challenge. So, if you’re not in the weight-loss challenge, you might as well stop now and go read something else. Like maybe Dug’s blog. Or Rich Dillen’s.
Oh, and while you’re there, do me a favor and leave a comment that has nothing to do with the post. He’ll like that, I’ll bet.
Weigh-In Time
If you’re part of the weight loss challenge I started last week, you’re either at or coming up on your first week weigh-in.
Just click here to go to the Week 1 Weigh In topic and follow the directions. Should only take a minute.
Everyone should post their first week weigh-in by Sunday evening.
If you don’t, you’re not eligible for prizes this week. And not all prizes necessarily go to the biggest loser. Sometimes there’s a random prize, so even if you didn’t do great this week, you should definitely still post.
PS: Having been in a conference room with treats all over the place, as well as lunch being brough in all the time, I lost only two pounds this week. I’m at 171 even today.
PPS: I’ll be back Monday posting that thing I would have posted today if I had time. If I don’t forget what it was by then.
Comments (17)
03.12.2012 | 7:24 am
Some of you may be familiar with Paul Guyot, who did a really great job guest-posting on my blog while I was in France last year.
As you may or may not know, Paul is, in addition to being a kick-butt guest blogger and short story writer (check out this short story and this short story collection, as well as his story in Ride), is a producer and writer for Leverage.
Well.
Paul just recently sent me this email:
Hey, Buddy!
How goes it these days?
Seeing as how you’re such a fan of LEVERAGE — the show I wrote for that’s on Sunday nights on TNT – I thought it might be fun if you came out to Portland, Oregon where we shoot the show, and did a little cameo. I could create a small walk-on role for you, perhaps as a Portland bike messenger?
You could see the production, meet the actors, dine on some craft service, visit Portland, and generally enjoy yourself for a day or so.
Since you give so much to others, and rarely think about yourself, I thought it might be nice to give you your own little moment in the sun! Or rain, seeing as how we shoot in Portland.
No need to thank me, as this is something I very much want to do.
Your friend,
Paul Guyot
As you might expect, I am intrigued by this opportunity. As you might also expect, however, I have some questions and suggestions, which I am pleased to now present in the form of…what else?…an open letter.
An Open Letter to Paul Guyot (and everyone else at Leverage)
Dear Paul,
Thanks very much for your generous offer to include me in an episode of Leverage. As you no doubt expect, I am more than inclined to accept. That said, I’ve spent a few minutes thinking about this opportunity, and would now like to run a few questions and ideas by you.
Questions and Concerns
This will be the first time I’ve been on television since ninth grade, Paul. And so I’ve got a few general questions and niggling concerns I hope you can clear up.
Hair : I don’t know if you’ve noticed in any of the pictures I’ve put on my blog, but my hair is beginning to thin. Or, more specifically, the hair on the top of my head is starting to thin (the hair on my back seems to be picking up the slack, however). And by “starting to thin,” I of course mean that I have an adorable little peninsula of hair on the top of an otherwise bare forehead zone. The attached photo should demonstrate the state of my hair (or lack thereof) quite well, as well as the somewhat alarming fact that my forehead looks like it belongs to a Sharpei. So my question is, will you provide me with a hairpiece for the show? Or should I buy one myself? Or should I grow a combover just as fast as I can?- Beard : Since you are filming in Portland, I am growing a Portland-ish beard with all possible haste. You will be glad to know, I think, that I grow a thick, lush beard, at approximately twice the rate of most men. Believe me when I say that in the below photo I have been growing this beard less than a week.
I am nevertheless concerned about the state of this beard for two reasons. First, it’s becoming evident that my beard is going grey. Do you have people who can de-grey-ify it? Second, can they take care of trimming it into a less pedestrian shape? I am capable of only the most pedestrian beardscaping techniques.
- Weight : I have heard before that the camera adds ten pounds. Could you do me a favor and have a disclaimer at the beginning of the show, when it airs, saying that due to unforeseen technical issues, in my case it added 35 pounds?
- Diction : I have a slight diction problem, Paul. Specifically, that I am a mushmouth. My “d’s” come out as “j’s.” My “p’s” come out as “b’s.” My “k’s” come out as “g’s.” The only vowel I ever pronouce is the schwa. I recently stopped using fricatives altogether. Will this be a problem? Perhaps you could have me overdubbed, or sub-titled? Or have me hold up cards? Or, right after I say something, have the actor I say it to repeat it back, as if to make sure they remember what I just said (but in actuality to help viewers understand me). Or perhaps you should just have me overdubbed. In which case, I would like to have James Earl Jones be the guy who overdubs me. I think that would be believable.
- Breath : I have terrible breath. I’m sorry. You may just want to give the actors I’m interacting with a heads-up on this fact. You may also want to keep the room well-ventilated, and perhaps have a scented candle burning nearby.
- Face asymmetry : Could you give your FX guys a heads-up that the left side of my face functions only at about 70%, and they may want to do some CGI work on my face afterward?
- Appearance Trademark : You may want to have your legal guys check and make sure that Stanley Tucci hasn’t already trademarked the way I look. So you don’t get sued and stuff.
Plot Suggestions
This is, of course, your show and I would never want to presume to tell you how to write a story. That said, I have a few ideas for how you might want to work me into the plot. I think your viewers would enjoy any or all of these.
Idea 1 — Have the episode be about a midpack endurance cyclist : I think people would really be interested in endurance mountain bike racing, if only they knew more about it. How about if the whole episode centers around me training for the Breck Epic, culminating in lots of action sequences – with dramatic and exciting music in the background – of me racing and finishing midpack in the race.
At some point in the training montage (because, obviously, there would need to be a training montage), I could take a fall, in slow motion (you’ll need to get a 5′7″ stocky stuntman for this part). As you go to commercial, there would be concern about whether I will be able to even participate in the race at all. (Don’t worry, though, in the next scene it becomes apparent that I want to continue on, in spite of the obvious pain, because that’s what midpack endurance cyclists do.)
I could have a dramatic, powerful monologue about how, for me, it’s not about finishing first. It’s about confronting my limitations and then busting through them. I would make my eyes look fierce and my voice steely, dramatically quiet, and less-mushy than usual for this speech.
Maybe the regular actors could be my support crew during the race or something, so they don’t feel left out.
Idea 2. Have the episode be about a beloved cycling celebrity blogger : Did you know that there are 20 million blogs in the US, alone? Obviously, blogging is white-hot, and yet there are no TV shows I am aware of tapping into this massive demographic.
I can imagine an episode where all the regular characters discover a blog written by a really interesting middle-aged guy who likes bikes. Before long, they’re all totally addicted to the blog (it’s my blog by the way), and are ignoring the job they’re supposed to be doing right then.
The blog helps them keep their sanity, because the job they need to do (stealing a maguffin back from someone who shouldn’t have the maguffin in the first place) is impossibly difficult.
And then, in an awesome plot twist, by reading the blog they figure out the missing piece to the job that’s had them stumped. High fives ensue! They execute the job flawlessly, and leave a comment on the person’s blog thanking him for saving the day.
Then, in a surprise twist, the blogger rings their doorbell just as they post the comment. “How did you get here so fast?” they ask.
“Oh, I have my ways,” I reply, with a sly wink. The regular actors look at each other, shrug, and the show ends with a giant group hug.
Idea 3. Have the episode be about a guy who really likes Mexican food: What if there were a guy (played by me) who really really liked Mexican food, but – because he loves Mexican food and therefore notices these kinds of things – discovers that all the good Mexican food restaurants in the area are starting to put more and more refried beans in their burritos, cheapening the product without reducing their prices.
The Leverage gang discovers this is true, and finds out that it’s because the Mafia has bought all the Mexican restaurants in the area, using blackmail or threats or something. And now they’re money laundering and making exorbitant profits on their burritos, both at the same time.
Doubly criminal!
So they start their own taco stand, making really great burritos, probably with fantastic guacomole (I can help with that). The client (me) spreads the word and soon it’s the most popular taco stand in the area.
When the Mafia tries to buy the taco stand using threats and blackmail and stuff, the Leverage gang demands a bunch of money because they’re the last decent taco stand in Portland. Then they disappear, give all the money to the original Mexican restaurants, and I teach them all how to make really good guacamole so they can regain their clientele.
And the Mafia can’t do anything about it because they spent all their money on that super-expensive taco stand or something.
I’ll let you figure out the plot niceties.
I think you’ll agree these are all really good ideas, and I won’t blame you if you want to use all of them (I’ll of course expect to get fair compensation).
I look forward to finding which of these you like best, and am excited to be a part of the show!
Kind Regards,
The Fat Cyclist
PS: You know what would be cool? If I became a recurring character in the show.
Comments (47)
03.8.2012 | 11:51 am
A Note from Fatty: My friend Dustin Brady is at it again, raising money for the YSC Tour de Pink with a contest to win a Pink Intense 951. Click here for details on this one-of-a-kind bike.
For every $5 you donate by April 1, you get a chance at this bike, along with other prizes.
And, more importantly, you’ll be fighting cancer alongside one of the greatest champions you could ever meet.
To enter this contest or for more details, just click here.
Recently, I asserted — using both convincing rhetoric and unassailable fact — that I am the best cyclist in the world. I stand by that claim.
And yet. And yet.
I — yes, even I! — have a chink in my cycling armor. And it is this: the final five miles of a ride.
Five Miles May or May Not Be Five Miles
By “the final five miles of a ride,” I don’t actually necessarily mean the exact final five miles of a ride. It could be the last two miles of a mountain bike ride. Or it could be the last ten miles of a 100-mile road ride.
The final five miles is really just my way of giving a number to the last part of a ride, where I’ve stopped thinking about — and enjoying — the ride itself and have begun thinking about getting off my bike and being done with it for the day.
Oh sure, every ride invariably starts out great. I begin with enthusiasm, thinking of getting away from the real world for a few minutes (hours, whatever). I then settle into the ride, happy as a clam (and make no mistake: clams are very happy indeed).
But then, around five miles before the end of the ride, something changes.
I no longer am thinking of the ride. I no longer am looking at the rocks and bugs and trees and the top tube and The Hammer’s butt and pavement and / or dirt and stuff.
No.
Now I am thinking of getting off my bike.
What I am Thinking Of
So, if I’m not thinking of the ride, what am I now thinking of? Well, a variety of things:
- Food: Really, this is the most obvious one. Generally, I will start with an inkling: “I would like some food.” I’ll then probe around that inkling, trying to figure out what kind of food sounds good. “Salty. Cheesy. Some kind of tomato sauce. Big.” I will then go through my mental database of foods that satisfy the criteria I have set: “Enchilada — no. Ravioli — no. Omelette — no. Spaghetti — no. Carne asada burrito — yes.
- Getting out of bike clothes: For some reason, I seem to expand during bike rides. Seriously, I do. It’s measurable. I inflate by up to 10%. So by the time I near the finish of a ride, the jersey that barely fit me at the beginning of the ride is starting to cut off the circulation to my spare tire. Or, it’s also possible that I’ve reached the maximum amount of time I can hold my stomach in. Regardless, as I get into that final five miles, I’m starting to get really excited about getting out of my jersey and shorts. Not excited enough to start early, though. Fortunately for everyone.
- A shower: By and large, I am a leave-it-as-is kind of person, plumbing and faucet-wise. However, I have installed a particular showerhead that magically gives my shower enough force to cut through aluminum and other soft metals. It is wonderful beyond belief. So while I definitely think about showering when I near the end of a ride, I should probably also confess that I think about showering during a lot of the rest of my life, too.
The Tragedy of The Final Five Miles
But you know, to be honest, it’s not so much that I’m thinking about something that I’ll do after the ride itself. I’m just thinking about the end of the ride.
Yes, I am, somehow, looking forward to the end of the thing that I have been looking forward to the beginning of for the whole rest of the day.
Yes, I astonish myself with my own foolishness.
Especially since, within a couple hours, I’ll be back to thinking about the next ride.
Comments (38)
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