09.20.2010 | 9:31 am
Hmmmm. What did I do during the weekend? Well, I went on a couple great mountain bike rides — one on Pole Line Pass, one on Tibble Fork — getting to enjoy perfect weather and trail conditions:
Not to mention the incredible beauty of the changing of the color of the trees:
But I didn’t get to write about those rides.
Oh, also I spent some time working on the next big Team Fatty giveaway, which will in fact be bigger and more awesome than previously anticipated.
But I didn’t get to write about that contest.
In fact, I didn’t get to work on any of the parts of this blog I like to work on, because yesterday — when I would be doing my writing for today’s post — I went to take a look at my site and saw — instead of my site — this:
I think it’s safe to say that I freaked out. A little bit.
Or maybe a lot.
I then checked my email and noticed that approximately 150 of you (thanks to each of you for the heads-up by the way) had sent me email saying you were getting the same thing.
Which meant that instead of writing, I was going to get to spend the evening troubleshooting.
A Quick Fix
It didn’t take long to figure out that the one part of the site I don’t control — what ads are shown — had to be the culprit. So I stripped the site of all the codes that put paying ads in my site, then submitted a malware review request to Google.
And as of this morning, they give my site a clean bill of health. Hooray.
Quick Fixes Might Be Permanent
The thing is, there have been several times that ads I’m none too thrilled with have appeared on my site. And for the past couple months been considering the possibility that the money — which is not a huge amount, alas — I get from ads is simply not worth it.
The problem is, I spend an enormous amount of time on this blog. Getting a little bit of money — even if it works out to be less than mininum wage — for my effort is kind of nice.
But not so nice that I’m willing to have my site contain malware.
So maybe I’ll keep the changes I’ve made. I dunno.
You Tell Me
I’d like your input. Do you think I should:
- Go ahead and go back to serving ads, but make sure the company that provides ads has their act together?
- Start looking for a company or two to act as the site sponsors, giving them exclusive rights to advertising?
- Don’t go after any money at all through advertising, but instead maybe do a “Best of Fatty” book sometime and hope a bunch of people buy it?
- Quit worrying about making money altogether and just do this blog for free?
- Something else?
Seriously, I look forward to your thoughts.
Comments (172)
09.16.2010 | 11:15 am
A “Cool Stuff Coming Next Week” Note from Fatty: For some time, I’ve been thinking that I would like to do a week of posts with the theme “Stuff I Like.” Specifically, each day next week I’m going to talk about some bike-related object that I really love. So watch for that.
Cleverly, one of the things I love is also going to be the central part in one of the most awesome bike giveaway contests I’ve ever done.
It’s like synchronicity. Or maybe it’s synergy. Or maybe both. I’d have to look the words up to know for sure, I guess.
Regardless, I think you may want to look under the sofa, borrow money from your parents, and otherwise scrounge up some cancer-fighting cash.
Cuz this is going to be big. And awesome. And quite possibly awesomely big.
I’m More Than a Little Nervous About Race Across the Sky 2010
In 2009, Citizen Pictures did a documentary of the 2009 Leadville 100 race. It was a fun movie, centered mostly around the Wiens / Armstrong rematch. I saw the movie at the local theatre, and it was a blast — mostly because the theatre was packed with other cyclists, all cheering whenever someone we recognized appeared on the screen.
For 2010, Citizen Pictures came back to Leadville to do the sequel. A few days ago, they uploaded a trailer. Check it out:
After seeing this preview, I knew that I would for sure be seeing this movie when it comes to US theaters November 4. I mean, JHK vs Levi Leipheimer vs Dave Wiens vs Todd Wells vs Ned Overend vs Tinker Juarez. All racing the course I have been on — without fail — for the past fourteen years.
Heck yeah I’m going to see that movie.
And then, after watching the preview about five times (loved the soundtrack by the way, anyone know who that is? [Update: It's Clutch, and the song is "Electric Worry," as clearly indicated at the beginning of the video. Duh.]), I went to the Vimeo page for the video. And there, I saw in the “Tags” section, this:
For those of you who don’t know, my name happens to be Elden Nelson. And since the only other Elden Nelson I know of is the president of the Association of Free Lutheran Congregations and therefore doesn’t have a lot of time to race his mountain bike, I think it’s safe to say that I’m going to be in this movie.
Gulp.
How to Make Me Say Anything, at Great Length
The thing is, I don’t recall any camera crews following me during the 2010 Leadville race (and, unfortunately, there were no crews filming me in 2009, or I’m pretty sure at least one moment would have made the cut). Sure, it’s possible they filmed me but I don’t recall. (The Runner reports that a film crew filmed her — riding with The Daisy mounted on her handlebars — for a big chunk of the final part of the race, so maybe she’ll be in the film?)
So probably they’re going to include some of the footage of the interview they did with me before the race.
Which scares me to death.
You see, like most people, I’m not exactly comfortable when a camera is turned on me. And like some — not all — people, my tendency when nervous is to talk. Fast. And a lot.
About anything that comes into my head, whether it’s relevant or not. Or accurate or not.
And then, later, after I’ve calmed down, I try to remember what it is that I’ve been going on about . . . and I have no idea whatsoever. Just a vague memory of talking and talking and talking and talking and thinking about the fact that I’m talking and can’t seem to shut myself up and wishing that someone — please, anyone — would whack me on the back of the head with a blackjack, thus rendering me unconscious and therefore incapable of further blathering.
In this case, I recall in particular a moment where they ask why I was going to ride a singlespeed. Which caused me, of course, at that precise moment, to completely forget the perfectly good reason I have for riding a singlespeed: it’s fun and I like it. Instead, I went on and on (and on and on and on) about . . . something.
To be honest, I’m caught between hoping they will include that section in the movie — because it might be humiliatingly hilarious to see myself do rapidfire stream-of-concious ranting on the big screen — and sending them an impassioned plea, along with a check for $5000, not to include it. Because, you know, it’s not like I have a ton of credibility in the first place, but I kinda would like to hold on to whatever tiny bit I have.
November 4
I assure you, I have not seen any of this video. Ever. And I don’t expect that Citizen Pictures is going to send me a rough cut or anything for my signoff.
Which means that when I go to see that movie, I’ll be seeing and hearing myself on the big screen for the first time. Unprepared. Vulnerable. And, I expect, very very sweaty.
So — as you may expect — I’m now just a little bit nervous for November 4.
Comments (40)
09.15.2010 | 11:21 am
Yesterday, I weighed myself, for the first time since about mid-April. I fully intend to disclose my current weight and how I feel about knowing — for the first time in five months — aforementioned weight, but first I intend to force you to read a whole bunch of explanatory text, with the hope and intention that you will lose interest in my weight before you find out what it is.
I think, with that first paragraph, I’m off to a good start.
My First Reason For Why I Have Not Recently Weighed Myself: Tradition
Whenever I’ve had a big, important race coming up, I’ve stopped weighing myself between two and three weeks before the race. Why? Because — and this is pure scientific truth, not rationalization — I figure that once I get that close to the race, any weight gain (or, hypothetically, weight loss) is not going to be significant enough to affect the outcome of my race.
Therefore, anything I know about weight I gain right before a race (because, let’s face it, I’m not going to lose weight as I taper down and carbo-load up) is only going to mess with my head.
And so, in mid-April, a couple weeks before the IronMan, I put away the scale.
And then I never brought it back out. Because, you know, there’s always another race coming up. Like…um…the one I had in August. And…uh…the one a couple weeks ago.
OK, fine, I guess there might’ve been a couple months in there where I didn’t have a race that was exactly impending.
Which is why I’ve got a very valid, extra-scientific second reason for why I haven’t weighed myself recently.
My Second Reason for Why I Have Not Recently Weighed Myself: Quantum Mechanics!
You may have heard of the “Schrödinger’s Cat Experiment,” wherein the living/dead status of a cat that may or may not have been poisoned is in a state of flux — i.e., the cat is simultaneously alive and dead — until that cat is observed.
It’s a fun experiment, and I recommend the next time you have a child come home with a Science Fair project that you have this child perform this experiment for his or her classmates.
My relationship with the scale is much like the Schrödinger’s cat experiment, except instead of a cat, it is my weight that is not measured. And also, I am not kept in a sealed box, and there are no cyanide tablets or geiger counters involved.
Really, the point I’m trying to get at is that as long as I do not measure my weight, no weight has been gained.
it’s a little more like “Fatty’s Scale.” Which is to say, until I’ve measured my weight gain, no weight gain has occurred. Schrödinger’s cat. Fatty’s weight.
You get the picture.
Right?
Why I Have Finally Weighed Myself
The problem with the quantum mechanics aspect of “Fatty’s Weight” is that, at a certain point, other indicators start to make it evident that while I have stopped training like I’m going to be doing a big endurance race soon, I haven’t stopped eating like I’m going to be doing a big endurance race soon.
Or in other words, once you start carbo-loading, you quickly develop a fondness for it.
This has led to — for about the thousandth time in my life — the manifestation of my least favorite (because it’s true) weight-gain axiom, which is deep enough that it belongs on its own line, in bold and italics.
You will know before it shows.
(In fact, it was important enough to indent and put a border around it.)
In this case, I could tell my body is getting ready to hibernate because my pants are tighter. All of them. Which kind of forced me to rule out the “mysterious shrinking pants” theory I otherwise like to cling to so tightly.
My Weight Does Not Matter
So, anyway, for those of you who pushed on through to this point. My weight. It’s 12.07 stone. Which is 169 pounds.
Which is about ten pounds more than I like to weigh.
Or at least, it appeared to be 169 pounds. You see, there were some ameliorating circumstances that make that 169 pounds really quite a bit less than 169 pounds. Specifically:
- I weighed myself in the afternoon. Ordinarily I weigh myself first thing in the morning, right after I pee. I consider that my true weight. Everyone knows that you’re heaviest during the afternoon. Because you’ve had both breakfast and lunch. And probably a few snacks. And around 64oz of Diet Coke. So I expect that this 169 probably counts for eight pounds or so.
- I have recently raced. Everyone knows that you gain weight after a big endurance race. This is due to the “post-race-3-day-binge” factor, as well as serious inflammation (which is a form of water retention, I suspect) factors. I figure this is worth two pounds. And a half.
- I was fully dressed. Actually I can’t remember whether I was fully dressed when I weighed myself. Let’s just assume that I was, though. And let’s further assume that I was wearing very, very heavy shoes. So, maybe seven pounds.
- It’s been a while since I’ve shaved my legs. Oooh, and my head too. And my eyebrow hair needs trimming. Between all the excess middle-age-man body hair I need to prune, that’s probably two or three ounces of weight I can lose instantly with the help of a razor.
So, when it comes right down to it, when I weighed myself, my reported weight was probably around 17.65 pounds too harsh of a judge.
No need to start dieting. All’s well.
Comments (45)
09.14.2010 | 10:42 am
I’m pretty sure that the first person who ever asked to have a photo taken with me as “Fatty” was Mike Dion, four years (or so) ago. I was out riding with some friends, the day before the Leadville 100. This guy — Mike — approached and asked if he could get a photo with me. I of course said “sure” and he snapped a photo using the classic self-portrait method (none of my friends volunteered to take the photo; they were too busy doubling over with laughter at me being asked to be in a photo).
Mike wasn’t racing the Leadville 100; it was a little too much for him. He was just there to watch.
Um, I think it’s safe to say that things have changed since then.
Watch Ride the Divide, Help Team Fatty Fight Cancer
Somewhere after Mike and I met, he got the crazy idea of riding the Great Divide Race: the 2700-mile mountain bike route from Canada to Mexico.. Mike says that I inspired Mike to start riding seriously, but I’m pretty sure he’s just looking for a scapegoat.
A film crew followed him — and several other riders — on their adventure, resulting in Ride the Divide, an inspiring and honest look at what people go through as they try to ride this frankly overwhelming route.
And now Mike wants to help Team Fatty in our fight against cancer by offering a special “Livingroom LiveStrong” edition of the movie, with 50% (in other words, all profit) of the cost going to Mike’s Team Fatty LiveStrong Challenge.
Mike is, in fact, awesome.
Schwagalicious
Here’s what you get with the special version of this award-winning documentary:
- A DVD or Bluray
- A custom wood laser-engraved box (including the Team Fatty logo!) by karvt.com, with
- A limited edition t-shirt by Mighty Karma
- A SmartWool Beanie
- Tony Hsieh’s Best Selling book – Delivering Happiness
- Other sponsors goodies
- Five Livestrong bands
- A free iTunes download of 10 MPH, the director’s first feature film
- People for Bikes pledge sheets and stickers
- Documentary Channel bumper sticker
And — perhaps most awesome of all — The first 300 packages sold will automatically be entered in a contest to win Mike Dion’s MOOTS he rode in the film. Yes, you could win his $7000 titanium wonder machine, custom bags and all, if you are one of the first 300 people to purchase a Living Room package.
There are only 500 of these special edition bundles being created, so you may want to hustle — especially if you want to be one of the people who has a chance at winning a really, really nice bike.
How to Order, What to Do
The Ride the Divide “Livingroom LiveStrong” package is $99, and is a huge bargain, especially considering how much schwag you’re getting, the potential you have for winning a great bike, and the fact that half your money is going to LiveStrong. So click here to go to the order page.
And then, here’s what you do to raise even more money in the fight against cancer.
- Invite a bunch of friends to your house to watch this movie with you on October 2, LiveStrong Day.
- Charge them each $10, and promise them snacks. Like, for example, you might promise them brats. Or the Best Cake in the World.
- Donate the money you raise to your own LiveStrong Challenge page.
- Have a great time watching a powerful, inspiring movie with your friends, knowing that you’re doing something really good at the same time.
Oh, and one more thing. Be grateful you’re not out there yourself riding the Great Divide. I know I am.
Comments (18)
09.9.2010 | 10:52 am
A Note from Fatty: This is Part 3 of my three-part story on racing (ha) the 2010 Park City Point 2 Point. Part 1 is here, and Part 2 is here.
This is going to come as a shocker to some people, but occasionally I do things that I quickly regret. Which is the only explanation I have for why I would have consumed a largish Mountain Dew and two Cokes at the final aid station.
I was thirsty. It was cold and delicious. I drank it.
Hey, you’ll notice that when I claim I am a “beloved, multi-award-winning, superstar cycle blogging sensation,” I never toss “smart” into that porridge of adjectives, right?
Anyway, I drank a lot of soda. Then I started riding.
Within a couple of minutes, the inevitable happened: the carbonated stew in my stomach (for in addition to the soda, I had also consumed a can of Chicken and Stars soup. And a Fruition bar. And a Salted Nut Roll.) sloshed around. My stomach expanded. To the point of distress.
And then past the point of distress. And then past the point that comes after the point that is past the point of distress.
And in short, I looked like Veruca Salt had been stuffed into a CarboRocket jersey.
And in even shorter, I felt terrible.
I slowed to a crawl (not literally), the discomfort seemingly robbing me of my climbing legs.
I kept swapping between wanting to barf, burp, or fart. Or all three. And in the darkest moments, I considered the probability that I was more likely to wind up with horrible, explosive diarreah, like the last time I had had too much caffeinated soda to drink during a stop in the middle of the long ride.
Then, as icing on the cake, I got a leg cramp that went all the way from the top of the inside of my left leg down to my calf. I pedaled through it, knowing that my only other alternative was to get off my bike and thrash around for a while ’til it went away.
Might as well go forward — at least a little bit — while I’m in agony.
A Runner (But Not The Runner)
There were many indications that I was not going fast. Most were predictable: My speedometer stopped registering movement. Cyclists passed me frequently. (JJ, a friend and one of the Suncrest gang, remarked as he passed, “Looks like you’re fighting some demons; good luck.”). Shadows of trees lengthened perceptibly between when I saw them and went by them.
But there was one unexpected sign that I had slowed: a runner. More specifically, a woman trail runner, going uphill. She just cruised right by me.
Looking for some way to further deprecate myself, I shouted out, “Oh, you’re just showing off.”
She did not reply. Just kept going.
Doing Some Math
As if I weren’t feeling bad enough and going slow enough, I had a new bugaboo in my mind: the reported amount of climbing for this race versus the amount of climbing my GPS said I had done.
See, there’s supposed to be 14,000 feet of climbing in the Park City Point 2 Point (PCP2P). But 65 miles into the race, my GPS said I had done around 10,500 feet of climbing. By my math, that meant I had 3500 feet of climbing in the final 13 miles.
And frankly, I just didn’t feel up to it.
So I asked a guy, as he rode by, if he had done the race before. He had. “Do we really have more than 3000 feet of climbing left?” I asked.
“No,” he replied, clearly horrified at even the suggestion of the thought. “There’s only about one more really big climb. Maybe a thousand feet.”
I have never before so dearly hoped that a complete stranger was right (he was; my final GPS reading says I did around 11,500 feet of climbing; I don’t know whether my GPS is inaccurate or the official altitude count is wrong.)
Gratitude
As I got to about mile 67 — eleven miles to go — a wonderful thing happened.
I began to fart. A lot.
My jersey loosened. My spirits lifted. My mind lightened. My climbing legs came back, as did the song in my heart (I almost always have a song in my heart).
So good did each fart feel, that I often remarked on them aloud: “Oh, that was helpful.” Or “Mercy, I feel better.”
As far as I know, nobody heard me commentating on my pleasure at having gas. And I really, really hope to never find out otherwise.
Surprise Ending
I continued to pass people on the climbs, and then get passed by the same folks on the descents, as I daintily picked my way among the rocks, too sore to roll over anything I didn’t absolutely have to.
And as I did, I kept reminding myself of one thing: you weren’t finished when you saw the finish line. People had told me not to be fooled: when you came by the finish area, you’d be redirected uphill for one last big climb before descending to the bottom.
And so when I saw the finish area, I knew I’d shortly be passing it, then heading back uphill. I knew that my day wasn’t done.
Except it was.
I was so cooked that I am the only person in the whole world who didn’t see the finish area the first time. So as I got closer and closer, instead of the elation of knowing I had finished my race, I felt nothing but dread. And pain. And exhaustion.
One more climb? Really? I have to do more climbing? I just didn’t feel up to it. I started to feel like I was going to cry.
OK, I did in fact start to cry.
And then I was routed into the finishing chute, I crossed the line, and it was over.
Weird. I hadn’t had time to transition from grim and exhausted and miserable to relieved, happy and exhausted.
And to be honest, I thought I was going to start crying again.
Get Me Out of Here
The Runner came up to me at the finish line and gave me a hug. “Please, get me out of here,” I whispered to her.
I just hadn’t absorbed that I had finished one of the toughest races — 78 miles of climby, technical singletrack at high altitude — I could ever imagine, in a very difficult way: on a rigid singlespeed.
I’d find out later I had finished in 10:29:59, 19th place in the Singlespeed division. 116th place overall. Which is pretty good, I guess.
But I didn’t feel exultant or triumphant or anything good at that moment.
All I wanted was to get out of there.
The Runner, able to tell that I wasn’t feeling celebratory at all, guided me to the truck. We were stopped several times by friends and friendly blog readers, all of them congratulating me, some wanting to get a photo.
Normally I love this.
But after this race I had one thing on my mind: get away from this place, as fast as possible.
Because I could tell I was going to start crying again.
As we quickly loaded the truck, The Runner did get one picture of me, trying my darnedest to smile:
Not much of a smile, but it was the best I had to offer.
Afterward
It was two days before my pee would return to normal color. My body feels fine now, and I’m astounded at the variety, distance, and enormity of the PCP2P.
I might even race it again someday.
But not on a rigid singlespeed. Not that way, ever again.
Comments (53)
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