i have problems
I like to eat food.
I mean I REALLY like to eat food. But not all food. For instance, theWife joined a veggie co-op last year and every other Thursday she comes home with this:
Which doesn’t excite me all that much. You see my body has a daily vegetable quota. Once I reach the quota the next bite of vegetable usually makes me all gaggy and such.
No. This is more like what I prefer theWife bring home from the co-op:
Oh sweet mercy.
[Sidebar: Dug I know you are seeing those Cosmic Brownies and think you have found your culprit. I'm innocent. Boo'ing is an impossible task for me...I consume the treats long before they make it to the door.]
Problem #1
Over the years I have developed a Pavlovian response to junk food.
It all started as a child.
Growing up we had The Third Drawer (my friends coined the phrase). The Third Drawer was the third drawer down on the left side of the stove in our kitchen and Mom kept it fully stocked with junk food…much to my (and my friends) liking. In all my youth, I can never remember a time when the third drawer wasn’t brimming with artery clogging, waistline expanding yumminess.
Over the years, my fondness for treats has evolved into an addiction. Literally.
Case in point, we ate dinner with Mark and Rachel a couple weeks back. Rachel being famous for her skills whipped up a wicked cake of lemony deliciousness and combined it with chocolate pools of heaven. Being the great hostess she is, she sent us home with a sizeable portion of what was left of the cake. I ate two slices at dinner and then most of what she sent home. Looking back I think I ate half of that cake. HALF. By myself.
Herein lies one of my problems. I can’t say no when offered junk food. I can’t stop myself from finding and consuming junk food. I know where every junk food stash is at the office. I can never stop with just one. I usually will eat junk food until I am sick. I even eat when it doesn’t sound good. I can’t stop myself.
Admittedly, my “habit” is a running punchline at the office. That’s not good right?
Problem #2
I am getting older.
I was blessed with good genes. My parents are thin. I grew up thin – so thin, in fact, my friends would ask me to pull up my shirt and suck in to show the rib cage in all it’s glory. They used to call me Alien. Nice, huh?
These days when I pull up the shirt and suck in…it looks the same as when I don’t suck in. Bulbous.
Age and junk food began to collide around 2001. That was the year we bought 19 boxes of girl scout cookies from a nice lady at work. One month later I was complaining to theWife that all of the girl scout cookies were gone. She said of all 19 BOXES she had only eaten one sleeve of thin mints. Houston, we had a problem.
So what I am about to type is not based in vanity, more to illustrate the point.
When I met theWife in college, I was spending 4-5 days a week out climbing the crags around St. George, consequently I was in pretty good shape. The first time theWife saw me with my shirt off her comment was “look at your body.”
Today? She calls me Shrek.
I think she has a fair argument for bait and switch.
Problem #3
Further, emphasizing the problem are the guys in the neighborhood. All great guys to be sure, but all also are incredibly fit and much faster than me on a bike.
Sam is the Wunderkind. It appears Mark has affixed anvils where his calves should be. Rick looks like he just came off the Pro Tour. Erik is almost always shirtless in 60 degrees. JDub and I started in about the same place a year ago and now I can’t catch him up a climb. Even Dug – the elder statesman – in an off year, is no slouch on the bike.
Eating junk food like I do makes it nigh impossible to match pedal strokes with these dudes.
Problem #4
With all the riding I did this year in prep for Leadville and LOTOJA I actually lost weight…20lbs. That’s great right? Correction, that WAS great. Only, one month after LOTOJA I have put 10 lbs back on. ONE MONTH.
What’s worse is I look like I have added 30 lbs.
Last weekend I put on the jersey and shorts to go out and ride some dirt for a few hours and this is what I saw in the mirror:
I’ve got rolls and ripples popping up all over the place.
That’s it. I resolve to not gain weight this winter.
Problem #5
So I started with some ab workouts. It was hot that morning, so I had my shirt off. I was laying on my back crunching and twisting when I heard it.
It sounded like a fart. Funny, didn’t smell like one. Come to think of it…didn’t come from the traditional location either. Slightly perplexed I continued with my routine.
When it happened again I was horrified. I had pinpointed the source. It was a back flab fart.
What on the great green earth is a back flab fart you ask?
Well my friends, a back flab fart occurs when you eat too damn much junk food, don’t exercise enough, take off your shirt and do ab workouts on a yoga mat. Combining blub rolls and sweat on a non-absorbant surface traps pockets of air that rupture as you roll about…thus creating the back flab fart.
To quote Kramer:
Look away, I’m hideous.
that about sums it up
So get a load of this:
Hmm…a hanger? What’s so special about that?
I “raced” LOTOJA this past weekend and after suffering much, much, MUCH longer than I had planned, this hanger awaited me at the finish line. You see this year instead of race medals or bottles of Ibuprofen, the LOTOJA race committee opted to go with a recycled bicycle parts hanger as the medal.
Nice, huh?
Do you remember the scene from A Christmas Story when Ralphie’s dad gets the shipment that “must be Italian”?
More importantly do you remember Ralphie’s mom’s reaction to the contents? It’s classic.
Well, when all the finishers lined up to receive their hanger, each had essentially the same response as Ralphie’s mom’s:
“What is it?”
“It’s a hanger.”
“But, what IS it?”
Ah well, after the tragedy that was my second attempt at LOTOJA it was fitting that in addition to my deflated ego I also brought home…a hanger.
Continuing with the Christmas Story theme I imagine when I show friends and relatives the hardware I picked up from the race the conversation will go something like this:
Friend or Relative: “Hey Eric what is that?”
Me: “Don’t bother me now. Can’t you see that I’m busy?”
Friend or Relative: “Yeah, but what IS that?”
Me: “Well, it’s a major award.”
Friend or Relative: “A major award? Shucks I wouldn’t a knowed that, it looks like a hanger.”
Me: “It IS a hanger, you nincompoop, but it’s a major AWARD. I WON IT.”
Friend or Relative: “Damn hell, you say you WON it?”
Me: “Yeah. Leg power, you see. Leg power.”
Dear LOTOJA finisher award picker: Maybe a stockinged leg lamp from Italy would a good idea for a finisher medal next year. I’m just saying.
I don’t mean to be a sourpuss and normally I don’t care what the finisher medal looks like. I mean it is after all, just a finisher medal…it’s not like I podiumed. But, I wasn’t the only one a bit perplexed by the goods. This was my favorite question from a another flummoxed finisher who picked up his hanger just before me:
“Does it come with a jacket or something?”
At any rate, the hanger perfectly sums up my latest attempt at LOTOJA. Just about everything that could go wrong, did go wrong:
- For the second start in a row I dropped a perfectly good train to go pee about 10 miles before Preston (you’d think I would have learned from the first time)
- For the second start in a row I blew myself up trying to catch back onto that train
- I mucked with my front derailleur the day before the race and wouldn’t you know it – I screwed it up royally trying to fix it. Rather than drive the extra 5 miles to Revolution I drove it down the hill to Canyon. I really like to buy my bikes from Canyon (they usually give me great deals), but I have yet to have one of their mechanics actually make my bike any better than it was before I brought it in. Consequently, I couldn’t shift down into my small ring on the way up Strawberry. Ugh.
- When the support wagon pulled up I asked if they had any lube (to quiet my uber squeaky pulleys). The nice old lady said “sure I’ll get you some”. She handed me a patch kit. “No, no - I said do you have any lube.” She came back and handed me ANOTHER patch kit – this one just had different packaging. I politely said thanks and went on my squeaky pulley way.
- I just can’t seem to figure out that blasted climb up Strawberry. Each year I feel like I am packing a gnu on my back up that thing. It may be the thrashing I give my legs trying to hook back on to trains before Preston, but I don’t know. I hate that climb.
- I missed my support crew at two aid stations. Not one, but TWO. Give them a little credit – the traffic was terrible. I had already used my emergency CarboRocket at the top of Strawberry so this was a huge blow. I tried to choke down aid station Gatorade instead. Consequently, I had a massive gut ache between Afton and Alpine.
- What sucked worse than not having any CR, was missing the chance to see theWife’s smiling face at the aid stations. Even though I was a horses ass in Montpelier she still makes me feel so much better when I see her at an aid station. (thanks for the support Cic)
- The feet, oh the FEET! I don’t know what was going on, but from the bottom of Salt to the finish my feet hurt like the dickens. I rode the last 80 miles with all of my buckles and velcro undone.
- After letting Rob J and Erik R pull for the bulk of the last 20 miles (Rob J pulled for a ridiculous amount of time from Afton on in – thanks Rob) I sprinted for the “win” at the finish. I know…nice move jackass. I wouldn’t have done it. In fact I told myself at the 4K, 3K, 2K, and 1K marks to let one of those guys have it for doing all of the work – then two idiots who hadn’t pulled a second from Afton came from behind and jumped for the line. I wasn’t about to let them take the “win”. I beat them both by a couple bike lengths.
So all in all, it was not a fun day at LOTOJA. On Saturday I was sure I wasn’t doing it again. Today…a little less sure.
Some of the positives I took from the day included:
- Feeling really strong up Geneva and Salt. Didn’t get passed and in turn passed a bunch of people.
- Felt strong on the sprint to the finish. Although the two yahoos I beat to the line may have been slouches for all I know. Their race etiquette certainly was slouch-like. It did feel good to blast down the lane just inside the barriers to beat them.
It was really good to be there with friends and kudos to Sam, Rick, Mark, Erik, Jamie, Whitney, JJ, Steve, Brad R, Dave R plus a slew of other friends who went out and made it happen. An especially BIG kudos goes out to J Dub who rode that thing into the dark on a recently broken hand.
Maybe next year.
Then again, maybe not.
it is good medicine
This post may seem a bit irrelevant given it has been three weeks since the race, but it took me some time to process what exactly took place at the Leadville 100. So consider this my race report.
People who participate in endurance events likely get this question a lot:
“So why do you do it?”
6 years ago, when I was attempting the Wasatch 100 endurance run I would respond “family peer pressure”, because theWife’s father and brother have run that masochism every year for as far back as I can remember.
After Leadville, however, I started to understand exactly why we do these things.
It’s about the people.
We have all seen the inspiring story of Rick and Dick Hoyt:
Similar accounts have been turned into television specials or screenplays. But there are thousands more stories happening in races across the country every year that only those who were there can attest. For those of us participating, there is something incredibly intimate about witnessing these demonstrations of life…in person.
You want to know why I twice toed the line of the Wasatch 100?
It’s because of the 70 year old man who came across the finish line 30 minutes past the 36 hour cutoff time. Shuffling along, bent over at the waist from exhaustion, but determined to cross that line. The rest of the finishers and their families were already spread about eating the post race dinner, sharing stories of their two days of suffering on the trail. A collective hush came over the entire crowd as eventually everyone began to notice what was playing out at the finish line behind the post race scene. The hush quickly turned to rousing applause and cheers as the crowd stood to give everything they had to help will that man across the line. It didn’t matter that it was unofficial. He finished. He inspired.
Or theWife’s dad, who on his first attempt of the Wasatch hobbled into the last aid station at mile 92, beyond the cutoff time. The race volunteers told him he had to abandon, he would never make it, the race for him was over. David - exhausted, discouraged, but not beaten – looked the volunteer in the eyes and said “you don’t tell someone who has gone 92 miles, to stop going.” He then picked himself up and hobbled on a bad knee across the next 8 miles in the dark to what 5 hours earlier had been the finish line. By the time David arrived, everyone had cleaned up and gone home.
Every day I see bad examples of the human spirit. In the headlines, during the commute, around the office, even in some of the same races that bring out the best in people.
But when, DT crossed the finish line at Leadville in 12:01, despite no one (and I mean NO ONE) giving him any odds of finishing, those bad examples are wiped from memory. Especially when you hear DT, in tears, tell you it was the words of his daughter echoing in his mind that compelled him to finish:
“Win the race, Daddy, win the race.”
That’s why I do it.
Dug and Holly had a similar experience at Leadville…only they didn’t see the ending. After the final gun went off, signaling the official end of the race, Dug and Holly noticed a wife and two kids waiting for their dad to finish the race:
“Holly and I turned around and saw her. Standing just over the finish line, holding a hand-scripted sign of pride for her man. And her two small children standing next to her, their hero-dad’s race number painted on their foreheads. All of them openly weeping, standing stock still.”
I don’t know if the guy they were waiting for actually finished the race.
But as he suffered along those final miles, using every ounce of strength he could muster to turn those cranks just one more time. Then just one more time. One. More. Time.
I am certain, in his mind’s eye he could see the same thing Dug and Holly saw at the finish line and he could probably hear the words of his family saying…win the race Daddy, win the race.
That’s why I do it.
During one of the Ironman specials NBC airs each October, Al Trautwig said something very insightful during his voice over for the Hoyt segment:
“If you have ever searched for the meaning of life. Stop. The answer lies right here.”
Can I get an amen?
P.S. we had the greatest crew in the history of crews. thanks to Cicely (one of my inspirations to finish), Dad, Mom, JDub, Dug, Holly, Rachelle, Gina, Rachel. couldn’t have done it without you all.
fight like susan
In the past year I was fortunate to have been introduced to Elden Nelson. For those of you into cycling or who like to read a very funny and often times emotionally engaging blog, you may know him as the Fat Cyclist.
Elden’s story is a familiar one – in that his wife Susan was diagnosed with breast cancer in 2003 and for the past 5 ½ years has waged an unbelievably noble fight against the disease that over time ravaged her entire body (you can read a much better version of Susan’s fight here).
What is unique about Elden, Susan and their family is that not only have they waged a tireless battle against the cancer within their own home, they have taken the fight worldwide…through Elden’s blog and the influence he has become to people everywhere. His readers include people from all walks of life including cyclists, cancer survivors, those currently fighting cancer, friends and relatives of cancer survivors as well as those who waged the battle as long as they could.
Lance Armstrong is one of the more influential followers of Elden’s blog. As well he should be. Because as near as a few of us could surmise on a ride up the canyon this morning, Elden and Susan’s efforts have likely generated close to $1 million for Lance Armstrong’s LiveStrong Foundation (including a staggering $506K generated so far this year).
Hence the reason for my message to you today.
I didn’t really know what I could do to help until late last night, when I decided to send this message to everyone I could asking for your help to reach Elden and Susan’s goal of raising $1 million in 2009 alone.
If you are willing and able please click here to visit Elden’s LiveStrong page and donate whatever you can – $5 is a really great start.
I also encourage you to pass this post along to as many people as you can to help find a cure and to visit www.fatcyclist.com to read more about what Elden is doing.
Over the last month, Elden has changed the mantra from “Win Susan” to “Fight Like Susan”.
Susan did her part (and then some) – now it’s our turn to Fight Like Susan.
PS – Click here to donate to Elden’s LiveStrong page
remember two things
So you know how sometimes you’re doing a thing and then you do a bunch of other things after you did the first thing and then you kind of forgot that you did the first thing?
That happened to me yesterday.
I went for a really great ride up Big Cottonwood Canyon (that was the thing).
Then I met the family halfway down the canyon for pancakes and eggs around the campfire (a great family tradition I married into). After that we went looking for fireworks and food to celebrate the nation’s birth (those were the other things).
Upon returning home I learned two things I feel are VERY important to share with you all:
The First Thing
Always, ALWAYS remember after a bike ride (no matter how many things you’ve done in between) that you attached your bike to the roof rack BEFORE you drive into the garage. Otherwise THIS could happen to you:
Uh huh.
It’s like reading the end of Old Yeller all over again.
My legs went weak when I first saw the destruction.
Five minutes later I found myself sitting awkwardly on the running board of the car. Apparently in my fragile state I opted to sit pinned between the door and the seat rather than just collapsing back into the driver’s seat. Traumatic episodes tend to have that effect.
The Second Thing
After you futilely attempt to use your bike as a battering ram and your wife asks “what was THAT?” I recommend you DON’T respond with:
“That was my f*cking bike.”
Especially NOT when the kids are still in the car.
Commit these two simple lessons to memory and you will find bliss.
Here endeth the lesson.
