02.8.2010 | 7:07 am
The bicycle is wonderful for a near-infinite number of reasons, but perhaps the most extraordinary is the fact that, when properly built up, a bicycle can coast.
When you are going downhill, you can stop working and yet keep going; perhaps you’ll even go faster. You can take short breaks on level ground, too. You can, amazingly, even coast uphill briefly.
You cannot, on the other hand, coast at all when running. A fact I, until this past weekend, never really fully comprehended.
26.2 miles is a long way to go without getting to coast. Really long.
Foreshadowing
The last Saturday before the marathon, The Runner and I decided that we’d try to get in a big run mileage-wise, but would skip the big climbs and descents we’d been focusing on. By doing a flat 18 miles, we thought we’d have a good idea of what kind of day we’d have when running the marathon. And we did fine, finishing the eighteen-mile run in exactly three hours.
But the next day I was sore. Left hip flexor pain. And it hadn’t gone away — not really — by Friday night.
Also, the weather was a little uncertain. Normally a hot, dry place even in the dead of Winter, Death Valley had been getting rain and snow. So I brought a huge amount of gear — the clothes I’d need for a Summer run, a Winter run, or anything in between.
It rained most of the drive — through Saint George, through Arizona, through Las Vegas and into Death Valley.
The cactus looked very confused.
Auspicious Beginning
The morning of the marathon was overcast and humid, but not raining. Not yet, anyway. Independently, The Runner and I arrived at identical dressing decisions: long sleeve light wool base layer, Fat Cyclist vest, wool socks, and shorts. I also wore a light wool beanie. The Runner did not, seeing as how she has hair.
We figured we’d be good in cold or rain with that combination. If the clouds cleared and it got warm, we were screwed.
We boarded the bus to the start of the race, and then the wind picked up. And it got cold. We huddled together, wondering if maybe it would be OK if we just started running a little early. Nobody would begrudge us a head start, right?
Then, almost exactly one minute before the race began, I needed to pee. Badly.
“I’ll be right back,” I told The Runner. “These things always start late anyway.”
When I came out of the outhouse, it was to the sight of everyone running down the dirt road. I had missed the start of the race.
I swear, this has happened to me in dreams, but I would never have thought that I would ever miss a race start in real life.
With the odd thought that I was currently in last place, I began chasing the field. Juking left and right, I passed the back of the field, looking for blue shorts, a white vest over a black wool shirt, and a white cap with a ponytail coming out the back.
There she was. On the left side, slowly running so I could catch her, and looking back often, wondering whether I’d ever catch up. It was her first kind move in what would eventually be a countless number of kind moves during the race.
Settling Into a Groove
The first mile of this otherwise flat course is downhill. The combination of gravity, embarrassment-fueled adrenaline, and start-of-race eagerness made me ramp up the pace. “Slow down, Fatty,” The Runner said. “This race has just begun.”
Yes, she really does call me Fatty sometimes. In spite of the fact that I’ve asked her to please call me “sir.”
I slowed down, and we settled into a comfortable — or what passes for comfortable when one is running — nine minute pace, where both of us are able to talk.
We had decided during the bus ride to the starting line that the theme of the conversation for this race would be “early childhood.” So we traded stories about friends, where we grew up, and pets. The miles slipped by quickly, and I was happy to note — several times in fact — that I was enjoying myself
Looking at my virtual training partner on my GPS (we had set them for a 4:30 target time), I could see we were ahead and building a strong lead.
A few drops of rain fell on us. Maybe ten, all told. But it was cold enough that I was glad for the Smartwool baselayer the whole day.
Looking Around
I have an assertion to make now. All wilderness, no matter what kind, is interesting and beautiful. I do not believe there is such a thing as ugly wilderness. Based on things I had read about this course and Death Valley in general, I halfway expected to come upon the first exception to this rule.
But Death Valley is no exception. Running through the bed of an ancient lake that stretched flat to the horizon, with salt crystals growing up at crazy angles, was remarkable to look at, and gave an impression of vastness that is entirely different from the vastness mountains or the sea convey. And it was definitely beautiful.
Then, as the lake bed gave way to desert and tenacious scrub, then to wiry, sparse trees, I was just amazed at the changes in scenery that had happened in just a few miles.
This wasn’t the landscape I had wanted to see. But it was definitely worth seeing.
The New Order
For the first eleven miles or so, The Runner and I ran side by side, talking most of the time. I made frequent optimistic speculation on how well things were going and our projected finishing time.
“We’re not even halfway there, Fatty,” The Runner reminded me.
“Can’t you please call me ‘Sir,’ as I’ve asked you to?” I wheedled.
Then, just after mile eleven, I noticed a change. It was about then that we started seeing the fast guys coming back on their return trip. The Runner would greet them with enthusiastic cheers. I would silently wave. Conserving energy.
And then The Runner began pulling away. “What’s up with that?” I thought. “Why would she be accelerating away from me?”
I checked my GPS. She wasn’t pulling away. I was dropping off.
I stepped it up, nearly catching her, and then falling back. This game of yo-yo continued all the way to the turnaround and beyond.
Still, in spite of my evident slowdown, I had good news: we had done the first half of the marathon in just under two hours. We were well ahead of the pace necessary to finish under 4:39. Heck, if we could just hang on to this pace, we’d finish the whole race in about four hours flat.
Keeping It Together. Sometimes.
At mile 15, I fell apart. My hip flexor had begun aching, and my legs were just so tired. I began formulating excuses for why I couldn’t finish the marathon. I highly recommend this technique, by the way, for a way to motivate yourself to not quit a race. Just try to come up with a good explanation for why you should quit. If you can’t put one together that sounds so good that you prefer it to the story you might be able to tell if you did finish the race, well, then you probably shouldn’t quit.
Still, I needed to stop running, even for just a minute. So I slowed to a walk, and hollered out to The Runner: “I need a break.”
Then, a tenth of a mile later, I started running again. Well, “running” is perhaps a little bit of a euphemism for what I was doing. Whatever it was, though, it was faster than walking, and I was able to turn in consistent eleven-minute miles with it.
And thus began my new marathon-completion strategy: run nine-tenths of a mile, walk a tenth.
And try to ignore the pain while I did it.
Honestly, I don’t believe I have ever looked at my GPS so frequently and so desperately as I did during the final ten miles of that run. Every third of a mile or so, I’d check the display again; had i got to my next walking break? No? OK, how about now? And how about now?
How To Fix Fatty. And How Not To.
The Runner had told me that she intended to stay with me for the entire marathon, and to her credit, she did. Even as my miles got slower and slower.
This, naturally, had the effect of turning the marathon into a bit of a lazy stroll for her. And she had energy to burn, which she expended in the following ways:
- Sticking her arms out like wings and zigzagging across the dirt road, making airplane engine noises.
- Running backward so she was facing me, and cheering me on by doing “a round of applause” for me (executed by sticking your arms straight out and waving them in a circle as you clap).
- Doing the “Watermelon cheer,” which is accomplished by pretending to eat a large slice of watermelon, then spitting out — rapidly — the pretend seeds.
As she did this, I discovered something valuable about myself, which I had not known before: Sometimes I have no sense of humor whatsoever.
“Please,” I said. “I need to do this my way.” I then went on to explain that I was in the pain cave, and that I would be retreating deep into it and not coming out for a while.
Adopting a new tactic, The Runner asked — around mile 17 or 18 I think — if I would like to hear her life story. “Yes, that would be great,” I said.
And so, for the next ninety minutes, The Runner babysat me to the finish line, just taking my mind off the run by talking to me.
If she hadn’t done that, I’m pretty sure I’d still be out there.
Big Finish
A strange effect of this course is that because there are no trees or hills for a big part of it, you can see huge distances. So at mile 23, I could see the buses at the start/finish line. It is so strange to be able to see things at that distance. It made me feel like I was much closer to the end of the race than I knew I actually was. I resolved to ignore them.
Which was a good resolution, because buses two miles away don’t look a lot closer than buses three miles away.
Little by little, we made it to the finish line. The final mile was uphill, and I had resolved to try to finish strong. The Runner and I accelerated.
And then, about fifty yards later, I decelerated. The Runner, however, kept going. “That’s good,” I thought, “She deserves to finish at least a little ahead of me after dragging me this far.”
But then she slowed to a walk until I caught up with her.
We crossed the finish line together, and I’m pretty sure I heard a spectator say, “Good one Fatty,” as we did. Thank you, whoever did that.
Our finish time was 4:27 — three minutes faster than our target time, and twelve minutes faster than my previous (i.e., seven years ago) finish time.
After I caught my breath, I asked The Runner why she waited for me at the end. “I waited for you the whole day,” she said. “It seemed silly to shoot ahead of you at the end.”
When you consider all this, you will probably not be especially surprised to learn The Runner and I are now engaged.
Afterward
By the end of the day after the race, I was sore. By Sunday morning my hip flexor was so sore I had a difficult time walking. I didn’t really feel injured per se — just sore; after a few minutes standing and walking, I would loosen up and could get around, easily walking like I was no more than ninety five years old.
By this morning — Monday — things have improved even further; I can now walk as if I were no more than eighty.
But I daresay it’ll be a few days before I run again.
PS: Those of you who bet or otherwise incentivized me (you’ll find your bets here), please click here to donate to my 2010 Seattle LiveStrong Challenge. Thanks!
Comments (197)
02.6.2010 | 4:51 pm
The Runner and I finished the Death Valley Trail marathon in 4:27. No injuries, apart from my ego.
I will explain more in my writeup this Monday.
For the record, that’s twelve minutes faster than my previous marathon time, seven years ago.
Those of you who ought to be paying, please get your wallets ready.
And now I believe I need to sleep for the rest of the day.
Comments (77)
02.4.2010 | 11:40 am
A Marathon Chronicles-Related Note from Fatty: Thanks, everyone, for your feedback yesterday regarding whether we ought to go to Death Valley and run the alternate course, or go to St. George and pre-run the Ironman course, or make something up. We’re going to go to Death Valley as originally planned. The points about an event being different than a solo run, the scenery being worth seeing, and a road trip being worth taking put us over the edge. Plus, there were a few hard cases who asserted that the bet stipulated the Death Valley marathon, and I don’t want to lose a bet by default.
You should be able to read the race writeup on Monday. Provided, of course, that I write it by then.
Like most everyone else in the world, I have heard of The Secret, the book that promises untold wealth, health, and perfectly-styled hair on a daily basis…as long as you buy the book. Like most everyone else, I was curious what secret The Secret contains.
And like most everyone else, I looked on Wikipedia to find out, where I learned that the secret of The Secret is that if you think about something in the right way — whether it be an event or an object or the removal of the letters “C” from the English language — the universe attaches other similar thoughts and forces to your thought, your thought gathers force like a giant thought-snowball, and then the thing you thought about will happen.
Which is really awesome. Because I hate redundant letters.
However, since — to my dismay — I did not master the secrets of The Secret by reading the Wikipedia article, I went ahead and downloaded the Kindle version of the book to my phone, and read it as quickly as possible, provided “as possible” means “whenever I was in line at the grocery store, or whenever I needed to use the bathroom for an extended period of time.”
And you know what? You can probably do just fine with reading the Wikipedia article.
Which is not to say, however, that The Secret does not work. It does! For example, I am going to, right now, think about eating the Twix Bar I have here.
And now I am eating it.
Freaky, isn’t it?
But The Secret has a dark underbelly. Yes it does. And that dark underbelly is that if you don’t formulate your thoughts correctly, you may get the opposite — or worse, a strange tangent — of what you were hoping for!
I call this “The Universe as a Trickster Genie” theory.
Specifically, The Secret tells us that the universe is a little bit stupid, in that it doesn’t get negatives. And I don’t mean that it doesn’t get double-negatives, which would be understandable, because who doesn’t have trouble with those from time to time?
I mean that it actually doesn’t hear negatives at all.
So, for example, if I were to think to myself, “I am not going to eat another Twix bar,” the universe just picks up on the “eat” and “Twix bar” part. And — get this — right now I am eating another Twix bar.
Oh, it is so delicious.
Thanks, universe, for making me eat another Twix bar even when I thought I shouldn’t.
And also, now I guess I understand why I’m seeing more of the letter “C” than I used to.
The Secret and Cycling
Now that you are — as I am — convinced of the power of The Secret, you are almost certainly asking yourself, “How can I use The Secret to become an extremely awesome cyclist? And how can I be certain to formulate my thoughts correctly, so the universe doesn’t go pulling some wacky prank on me?”
It’s a natural question, and I will now teach you the things you must think — along with the things you must not — in order to leverage The Secret in your riding.
To Win a Race:
- Do: Imagine yourself going very fast, crossing a finish line. And be sure to also imagine nobody else in front of you, and lots of people behind you. And be sure to imagine yourself crossing the correct finish line, or you might wind up winning a completely different race. And you might also want to imagine a calendar nearby with the current date on it, or you might win the race, but as the sole participant in the Octogenerian category, 55 years from now.
- Do NOT: Imagine the problems you might have that might obstruct your win. For example, do not imagine yourself with a mechanical. Do not imagine yourself with a showtune running endlessly through your head. Do not imagine yourself being passed by me. Except now I have already made you imagine all of those things, and I am going to totally beat you when we race.
To Avoid a Crash
- Do: Think of yourself riding upright, in every possible terrain. Think of the road being empty. But do not think in terms of “devoid of crazy drivers,” because then you’re still thinking about — and therefore attracting — crazy drivers. Just think of a nice empty road. And go ahead and imagine ice chests on the side of that empty road, spaced every 100 feet or so and filled with the beverage of your choice. Oh, and imagine ice, too, because the universe needs you to be specific.
- Do NOT: Think of the word “crash.” Ever. It doesn’t even matter if you think of the word “Don’t” before you think the word “crash.” You still thought of crashing. Also, you should probably not stop wearing a helmet. Because there may be someone out there who is thinking of you having a crash, and maybe that someone is better at The Secret than you.
To Handle a Crash in the Event That You’re Having One Even Though You Thought You Had Done a Pretty Good Job of Imagining Not Having a Crash
- Do: As you fly through the air toward the tree, boulder, road, or cinderblock wall, imagine pillows. Lots and lots and lots of fluffy pillows. And it may not be a bad idea to imagine an ambulance on its way, just in case the pillows don’t arrive on time.
- Do NOT: Imagine yourself hovering in the air, magically defying the laws of gravity. The universe is totally not cool with people spiting its laws, and will slap you down even harder. Don’t go upsetting the universe, people. Also, do not imagine yourself lying in a broken, crumpled heap, because that’s counterproductive. Besides, you’ll have time for that later.
To Get a New Bike
- Do: Imagine yourself with a new bike. Be really specific about the bike though — know the brand, the model, the year, the size. Everything. Also, imagine that you obtained it legally, because otherwise the trickster universe might just plop one in your hands, but it’s stolen, and some of your local authorities may not really understand The Secret as well as they should. Also, imagine that it’s yours, and not that you’re just washing it for a friend or something.
- Do NOT: Imagine what your significant other is going to say when s/he sees you coming home with yet another new bike. In fact, you may want to do some pre-emptive counter-imagining around that scenario.
To Lose Weight
- Do: Imagine yourself thin and ripped. Imagine yourself buying all new cycling clothes. Imagine yourself a blur of motion as you climb your favorite killer hill.
- Do NOT: Imagine yourself not eating. Because the universe will ignore the “not” part and will make you eat. But also, don’t imagine yourself eating, because — of course — that’s where the problem began in the first place, isn’t it? But remember, you should not stop eating altogether, because that brings problems of its own. Like starvation, for example. Wow, this Secret thing is turning out to be pretty darned tricky.
To Get Awesome Quads
- Do: Imagine yourself with my quads.
- Do NOT: Imagine me wearing a big floppy sombrero, because that would be a mean trick to play, especially since I’m letting you have my quads and stuff.
Really, I’m just gettng started here. I also have very useful tips I can give you on what to think (and what to not think) on how to spin circles, how to ride a clean line, how to keep your chain lubed, and how to avoid broken glass. And much, much more.
But to get that, you’re going to need to buy my upcoming book, The Secret and Cycling, which I am write now imagining getting a big fat publishing contract for.
And I’m imagining it already being written, too.
PS: Whoever it was that imagined me wearing fake elephant ears, an orange tutu, and these clown shoes, cut it out.
Comments (68)
02.3.2010 | 9:17 am
I wish the Tour de France — and all of the big cycling tours, really — would follow the same route each year. Now, I freely confess that’s probably a stupid wish, but I’ve got my reasons. To me, part of what makes a traditional cycling event a great tradition is that as much as possible of that event remains consistent. The approximate date, the rules, the incentives, and the course are pretty much the things that you can normalize, and so you should.
By having a different course each year, it becomes difficult for us to really compare the winner of one Tour to another.
But in pro cycling, that’s pretty much normal. Which makes me think: are there any other sports where the most-well-known annual event is actually a completely different event each year? I can’t think of any.
So, you see, that’s why I don’t ride in any of the Grand Tours.
On the other hand, each year I do the Leadville 100, which has seen two minor course changes — one having to do with bandwidth, the other having to do with safety — in the thirteen years I’ve ridden it. It makes an excellent yardstick of my fitness for the year.
And I like doing the same rides — whether road or mountain — several times each year, for kind of the same reason. Whenever I ride the Alpine Loop, I’m not just getting a good ride, I’m taking a ride down (but first, up) memory lane.
Same thing goes with Mt. Nebo. And Frank. And Squaw Peak. And Jacob’s Ladder.
And Tibble. Especially Tibble. When I found out that there’s some rerouting at the base of the climb, I nearly cried.
OK, I cried.
My point — and I’m as surprised to be making a point as you are — is that when I know and am planning on a particular ride, I think about that ride. I get to the point where I’m no longer looking forward to a ride; I’m now looking forward to that ride.
And any variation from it takes some getting used to.
Sometimes, of course, it can’t be helped. A road or trail is closed. Partway through the ride someone in the group has a massive mechanical. Weather or road conditions force the group in a different direction.
It’s OK, I don’t whine about it. At least not very much, and I try to conceal my whining behind semi-oblique sarcasm.
But still, it’s a bummer.
The Death Valley Trail Marathon: Rerouted
So if I get a little hangdog and have to adjust to the change when a group ride changes course, consider how I felt when I got the following email yesterday from the Death Valley Trail Marathon organizer:
Due to rain, snow and ice, the Titus Canyon Road has been closed by the Park Rangers. The event will be held on the alternate course along Westside Road. You can view the new course map online here.
The new course is a thirteen-mile out-and-back (as opposed to a point-to-point) on a dirt-and-gravel road (as opposed to in the beautiful wilderness of Titus Canyon), is almost perfectly flat (as opposed to twelve miles of climbing, followed by fourteen miles of descending), and the entire thing actually happens below sea level.
You know you are feeling disappointed when the most obviously exciting thing about a course is its peculiar altitude.
Now, I want to be clear: I am not angry about this course change. This is not the first time this has happened on this course, and the organizer went out of its way to make it clear in the sign-up: about a third of the time, weather forces a route change.
So again: I am not angry.
But I am bummed. Which means I have a decision to make.
Factors Considered
Last Saturday, The Runner and I ran 18 miles. I was tired at the end, but I was not demolished. I’m pretty sure that I can run a marathon this Saturday, and I want to try.
After all, I’ve been training for it for a whole six weeks. I don’t want to throw away all that preparation.
But do we drive eight-plus hours (each way) to do a flat dirt road marathon? Here are the things I’m considering:
- The Bet: A couple weeks ago, more than a hundred of you gave me an excellent incentive to do this race: around $4000 worth of bets. The problem is, the premise of the bet is messed up now. I can still do the Trail Valley Marathon, but that marathon no longer has 2000 feet of climbing, nor does it have 5000 feet of descending. If, on the other hand, I do the modified version of this race, I think it will actually be harder for me; I was counting on that fourteen miles of downhill (and net elevation change of -3000 feet) to help my time.
- The Alternatives: A marathon is 26.2 miles, and can be anywhere. A trail marathon is 26.2 miles on dirt, and can be anywhere. If we choose, I’ll bet The Runner and I could cobble together a trail marathon that is closer to where we live and closer in elevation gain / loss to what the original Death Valley Marathon was. Or we could pre-run the St. George Ironman course in its entirety. That would be helpful to The Runner, and with way more than 2000 feet of climbing, should easily satisfy the spirit of the bet.
- The Scenery: Death Valley really is a place everyone should see. I was excited to show The Runner the Devil’s Golf Course, as well as the Artist’s Palette. Plus, the marathon actually goes through the Devil’s Golf Course, which I think could be a surreal experience worth having. On its own merits — if we had planned for this kind of marathon in the first place, in other words — this course might be cool to do.
- The Drive: It takes at least eight hours to get to Death Valley. That’s a long drive. The thing is, though, I actually see this as a plus. A good audiobook can make a long drive a really great thing. (Audiobook fans: feel free to use the comments section to recommend an audiobook you’ve liked.)
- The Cognitive Dissonance: There’s a good chance it will rain during the Death Valley Trail marathon itself. The strangeness of being cold and rained on in the hottest, driest desert in the U.S. sounds pretty interesting to me.
Honestly, I don’t know what to do. And The Runner is as stymied as I am.
By all means, Internet, share your wisdom with us. For we are baffled.
Comments (102)
02.2.2010 | 11:39 am
A “Now’s a Good Time to Buy Some Fat Cyclist Stuff” Note from Fatty: From right this second through this Friday, February 6, Twin Six is going to be donating 25% of all purchases of Fat Cyclist gear to LiveStrong.
So if you have been thinking about getting a t-shirt, or a whole clutch of bottles, or a vest, or a hat, some shorts, or some arm warmers, or some stickers, now’s a good time to do it.
You’ll be getting some stylishly self-deprectating clothes (or other accessories) and fighting cancer at the same time. Like you’re some kind of multitasking genius or something.
You’ll be both feared and admired by your peers. Because, after all, who doesn’t fear and admire a person who is so devastatingly self-confident that s/he is completely unconcerned about wearing something that says “Fat Cyclist” on it.
Or maybe you’ve wanted to get the wool Trainer, but you’ve been freaked out by how expensive it is. Well, first off, it’s actually below the MSRP, and the manufacturer isn’t all that excited about the price we’ve set. And second, with 25% — that’s $47.50 — of the cost going to LiveStrong to fight cancer, maybe the price doesn’t sting quite so much.
Oh, and there’s one Fat Cyclist item I think you’ll definitely want to pick up. Last year’s armwarmers — black with a white and pink accents — are on sale for $10. That’s way below what Twin Six paid for them. I think they accidentally added an extra zero to the order when they had them made and now just want to get them gone. At this price, you should probably pick up three pair, so as you lose them (armwarmers have an attrition rate similar to socks), you’ll still have plenty.
And while you’re shopping, take a look at the rest of the site. Twin Six is having its big annual Spring Sale, and everything’s marked way down. T-shirts for $16, 2009 jerseys are $45. It’s a good time to stock up on your ride and post-ride clothes for this Spring and Summer.
(Oh, and don’t tell anyone, but there are even a couple of 2009 t-shirts on sale for $6 [this one and this one. Madness!)
An Open Letter to the Guy Riding His Bike in the Cold and Wind and Snow and Slush and Rain
Dear Guy I Saw Riding Last Sunday Afternoon,
I think we can agree that we, as cyclists, need to stick together. We need to have each other’s backs, so to speak (although now that I think about it, I don’t think it makes very much sense for cyclists to ever be back-to-back). With that in mind, I think you owe me an apology.
You see, it was a very cold day. And snowy / slushy / rainy. And the roads were wet, trending to icy. No doubt about it, it was clearly not a day to go riding. And so, using the logic for which I am (justly) well-known, I did not go riding. Instead, I went for a nice drive up American Fork Canyon, just to get a sense of when it will be rideable.
The Runner was along for the ride, as we had a couple hours to kill before it would be time to fire up the grill and make burgers, for which I am (again, justly) well-known.
From the heated-seat comfort of the BikeMobile, I commented with authority and machismo, “Well, this road’s unrideable.”
And then you came around the bend. Riding. You looked up, smiled, and waved.
I’m pretty sure that your smile and wave were perfectly friendly, but if it’s OK with you, I’m going to imagine it as being malevolently smug, because that makes it a little bit easier for me to live with myself.
The Runner looked at me and observed, “So there’s a real cyclist.”
I had no response at all. Not then, not now. I’m 40 hours into a state of flummox, with no end in sight.
Imagine, if you can, Guy Riding Last Sunday Afternoon, how puny I felt. How very, very ahsamed. And, above all, how angry.
Yes, angry.
I’m angry because I now have to adjust my self image, from “steely-gazed, square-jawed, focused and resolved cyclist” to “fair weather pansy rider.” That’s quite an adjustment to make, and not a particularly pleasant one.
Thanks a lot, Guy Riding Last Sunday Afternoon.
And it’s not like this was the first time something like this has happened. There are other people who are like you. People who, in spite of the fact that I find the weather too cloudy / wet-road-y / cool / breezy to go ride, are going out and riding.
This has to end. Right now.
From this point forward, I would like you — and people like you — to please not go riding until I give the signal that it won’t make me feel like less of a man to see you out there. The signal will comprise the following:
- I will post something on my blog saying it’s OK to go outside
- I will emerge from my house, pasty white and fleshy
- I will ride my bike
That time has not yet arrived.
Guy Riding Last Sunday Afternoon, let me close with an appeal. In this world, we all have to accommodate others. Or more specifically, everyone else has to accommodate me. Please, Guy Riding Last Sunday Afternoon, don’t be so selfish. The next time it’s cold and / or ugly outside, think about someone besides yourself (i.e., me), and stay inside.
I think we’ll both be glad you did. Or at least I will, and that’s what really matters.
Kind Regards,
The Fat Cyclist
Comments (90)
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