I have heard it from so many other riders, “skinny = fast.” But, as a friend of mine, Wankmeister, is finding out, skinny also equals misery. As anyone who has ever tried to lose weight knows, there are a gazillion different diets out there. One thing all diets have in common — you can’t spell diet without die. Whether you want to lose 5 pounds or 50, at some point you’ll want to die. Perhaps at some point you’ll even think you did. This post isn’t about the new miracle diet trick, or some tip I’ve found successful that I want to share with you. No, this is just nonsensical fluff to keep the webmaster happy. (RL stands for Red Lamborghini. He gave me the keys under the condition I write a word or two. I want to keep driving it so here are my words.)
Sadly, you can’t lose weight and drink at the same time. Regardless of what Pharmstrong and his Michelob Mediocre drinking buds will tell you, the two are mutually exclusive. Trying to keep your sanity while dieting? Don’t try to cope with he help of Sailor Jerry or Pliny. Trying to keep your sanity while your 2 kids are having you shuttle them from soccer to hula to ballet to tae-kwon-do to school all the while you are off the bike. . . Sorry, that’s just me. As you get older life gets more complicated. All the hassles, commitments, responsibilities, and general adult-like-sh*t gives you more reason to drink. One of those adult-like sh*tty realities — the older you get, the harder it is to lose weight.
When I was 17 my then boss took me out to lunch. I ordered the special which consisted of a double cheeseburger, french fries, AND onion rings, AND zucchini, and a salad. Pfft, why the hell add a salad to all that? Screw it, cover it with Ranch. I still remember my boss saying, “Enjoy eating like that now. When you get older and eat like that you’ll look like me.” Yes, he was in his mid 30’s and had the most perfectly rotund belly with disproportionately smaller arms and legs. Now I am 2 weeks from turning 36 and I feel like he looked.
Another thing about my youth, during high school and my first 2 years of college I did everything I could to stay above 200 pounds. I took all sorts of foul smelling, ill tasting, and even some now found to be dangerous supplements. Now, thanks to cycling, when the motivation strikes, I do all I can to dip below 180. The guys who bitch about ballooning up to 158 lbs are the same guys I use to pummel in school. I want to be one of those guys. Why, because they are hard as nails as fast as f*ck.
Those skinny guys drop me like a bad habit, a prom dress, H.S. French, and any number of other metaphors. Every ride is a race. All of life is a competition. If I wanted to just cruise on my bike then I would install tassels, a bell, and a basket. I want to ride. I want to perform. I want to go to the front. I want my body to make possible what my mind thinks is possible. The solution: eat less, eat like a caveman, ride more, run more, see hamburgers everywhere, be miserable, be cranky, be hungry, be Betty White, look good, be fast. Or, continue on my current path and just ride with slower friends.
Tomorrow. . .