05.11.2009 | 11:19 pm
A Note for 100 Miles of Nowhere Racers from Fatty: 
Team Fatty (Philadelphia) member Clay Frost recently observed a glaring problem in the 100 Miles of Nowhere: there are no race bibs. Cleverly, he has had several printed up, and you can get one — even if you’re not actually in the race, which is confusing but cool — for the measly price of $5.00, donated to Clay’s LiveStrong Challenge account. This is a genius idea, frankly, and I hope you’ll get yourself a bib (pictured here) and wear it proudly on race day. And be sure to send me a photo.
By the way, you can’t have bib #001. That’s mine, because I — as the only entrant, sure — won last year’s race.
To get your race bib in time for the race, click here to go donate $5 at Clay’s LiveStrong Challenge page. Right now.
As part of your donation, Clay will have your address, so you shouldn’t have to do anything else to get the bib. Thanks!
Another Note for 100 Miles of Nowhere Racers: Neil C wins the “Jumping the Gun” award by having already completed the 100 Miles of Nowhere — two weeks before the event actually began. I would like to compliment Neil on his fortitude, his intensity, his speed (almost exactly nine hours), and his apparent ability to bend the rules of space and time.
Based in Rochester, MN, Neil rode a 0.95-mile neighborhood loop on his Specialized Epic MTB enough 106 times. A 75-foot climb on each lap meant that Neil climbed 8000+ feet during his ride.
Says Neil, “It took until after mile 80 for any of the neighbors I didn’t know to say anything.” And then he warns, “This was extraordinarily boring.”
But in a good way, right, Neil?
Oh, Now I Remember
Every winter, my perception of road cycling somehow gets warped. I’m pretty sure this has to do with all the time I spend on the rollers. After months and months of riding my road bike in place, I somehow start to think that my cumulative distaste for the whole ride-in-place thing includes the bike itself.
Somehow, I manage to think of riding the rollers as the same thing as riding the road.
Thus, by the time good weather arrives (and I have definitely become a fair-weather rider during the past few years), I have no interest at all in taking the road bike out. “Let it stay upstairs with the rollers where it belongs,” I think.
And I ride my mountain bikes, exclusively, for weeks on end.
Eventually, though, there will be some external circumstance that forces me to get out the road bike: usually a hard rain at night, followed by a beautiful morning. Too muddy to hit the dirt, but too perfect a day to not go for a ride.
Oh well. I may as well haul out the ol’ road bike.
Annual Revelation
And then, every year, I rediscover the fact that road bikes are every bit as wonderful as mountain bikes. I would say, in fact, that this annual revelation is emphasized by my low expectations, and what I’ve come to expect a bike to feel like.
Suddenly, I rediscover exactly how smooth a road bike feels. Those hard skinny wheels carve corners with an elegance a mountain bike was never meant to have.
Oh, and the power: compared to a mountain bike, when you pedal a road bike, you just leap forward. The difference is startling, at first. And exquisite.
And then there’s the simplicity I feel when on a good road ride: the focused, clear feeling of doing exactly one thing. It’s not a feeling I get often on mountain bikes.
What’s most amazing to me, however, is that I somehow forget over the winter how incredibly exciting a road ride can be. For the group I ride with at least, mountain bike rides are often social occasions. On the road, however, every ride becomes a race. And then there’s the downhill on a road ride: if you open yourself up to it, it feels very nearly like how I imagine flight must feel.
Lucky
Once I have remembered that I love road riding — somedays more than mountain biking, some days less, but on average just the same. They’re so different, but complement each other so well. I sometimes think about how lucky I am to have discovered both. Or really, to have discovered cycling at all.
The fact that I spend so much time riding bikes, and so much time writing about bikes really makes it obvious, but I still think it’s worth saying once in a while, with no intended comedy or irony, as directly and simply as I can:
Whether on road or mountain, I love riding bikes.
Comments (38)
05.10.2009 | 11:33 pm
American Fork Canyon is, quite simply, the main reason I wanted to move to Alpine, Utah. Which is to say, American Fork Canyon is home to Tibble Fork, the Ridge Trail, Timpooneke, South Fork Deer Creek (aka Joy), and Pole Line Pass. That’s right: American Fork Canyon is home to a mountain bike Royal Flush.
But those are all mountain bike trails, and American Fork Canyon is home to an exceptional road ride, too: the Alpine Loop. And it must really be spring now (finally!), because on Saturday I went on my first AF Canyon group ride of the year.
It was a good group, too: Dug, Mark, Jason, Eric, and me. Thinking it was high time I show off the great road ride I’ve got here, I put on the helmetcam, set it to record — with more than five hours of recording time on a card, it’s easier to just record the whole ride than capture clips — and rode out to meet the rest of the group, all of whom would be dropping down from the Suncrest development.
Cameo
I rolled out of my driveway, thinking it would be cool to start the video with that — showing off this ride I do from my front door. I was a few minutes early, so I figured I’d just slowly climb up the South side of Suncrest until I saw the group descending, at which point I would turn around and join them.
Almost immediately, a couple of cyclists — guys I don’t know — passed me. The headwind was pretty harsh, so I stood up and caught up to them, then just sat in, letting these two — riding side by side — act as a really excellent windscreen.
“I should include these guys in my video,” I thought. “Just to confuse people. Everyone will wonder what happened to the two riders who were there for the first part of the first climb, and then just disappeared.”
Then the group caught up, and we made our way to AF Canyon, getting ready for the carnage the climb would no doubt create. The first group ride of the season up a serious climb? No way that won’t turn into a battle.
I’m 120% the Man I Used to Be
Here’s the thing: Eric and Jason are working hard to get a fast time at Leadville this year. Dug’s weight never varies. Mark’s calves look like big twin-chamber hearts.
And I am 30 pounds over racing weight.
Mark, oddly, turned around before we even got to the climb, to go wait for a friend who was only 40 (?!) minutes late for the ride. (The fact that Mark would get to the turnaround point about 5 minutes after the rest of us did shows Mark’s in good form this year.)
Jason and Eric took off the front. Dug, briefly torn between obeying his shepherding instincts and wanting to see if he could contest the lead, rode with me for a few minutes and then bridged the gap.
This gave me an excellent opportunity me to contemplate what thirty pounds equates to. For example, a very lightweight freeride bike. Or a three-year-old child. Or three gallons of water (imperial gallons, not US gallons).
Or my subcutaneous layer of fat.
I may not be the walrus, but I look the part.
“Oh well,” I thought. “Maybe I’ll be able to hang with the group on the descent.” I thought of the video and how it would show Dug bridging the gap and how much he would like that part of the video, and decided I would edit it out.
I Can Suffer When Needed
Between the Timpanogos Cave parking lot and the Tibble Fork turnoff, the road levels off for a couple of miles. And, luckily for me, Jason, Dug, and Eric were not trying to devastate me even further by forming a paceline and increasing their gap on this section.
And in short, I caught up.
“This will be an excellent section on the video,” I thought, as I pulled even with the group. “Perhaps I will play it in slow motion with dramatic sound effects.”
And then we passed the Tibble Fork turnoff, veered right, and were at the base of the main climb.
Jason and Eric immediately shot off the front. Dug kept me company for a few moments until he realized that I had nothing interesting to say — and in fact had no excess breath with which I could say anything whatsoever — and then he went on ahead.
But I couldn’t just sit back there, letting everyone go miles ahead of me. Not without at least a token fight. So I pushed. Hard. Like there was something at stake.
Which of course there was.
There always is.
Taking Turns
Giving it everything I had, I reeled Dug in. And then together, we reeled Eric in. Jason was up ahead in the distance — sometimes you could see him, sometimes he was around a corner. So I pretended he didn’t exist.
Thinking that perhaps I had just a little more in me, I pushed harder, and dropped Dug and Eric for good.
Except, of course, I hadn’t.
The thing about giving a climb everything you’ve got is, the sound of blood in your ears pretty much blocks out every other sound.
And so I was surprised when Dug and Eric caught up with me. “At least,” I thought, “They are having to work for it.”
At least, it is my fervent hope that they were working for it.
For the rest of the climb, Dug, Eric and I took pacemaking turns for our group of three. Each time one of the others passed me, I thought to myself, “That’s it. I’m done. I’m about to slide backwards.”
But each time I managed to hold on. Barely.
Once, I even considered saying to Dug as he passed me and I fought to grab his wheel, “If you want to crack me now, all you’ve got to do is stand up and attack for two seconds.”
Even through the haze of pain, though, I thought to myself, several times, “All this passing and re-passing is going to make terrific video.”
And, just to put an exclamation point on it, I stood up and sprinted to what I decided was the turnaround point, where snow still blocks the road.
It’s easy to declare yourself the winner when you unilaterally choose the finish line.
Near Death Experience
We talked for a few minutes while I gathered my breath. Mark caught up with us while we were there, and then it was time for the descent.
The first mile or so of the Alpine Loop descent is currently two parts awesome to one part freaky. One awesome part is due to the road itself: it’s a twisty, fast-descending smooth mountain road. The next awesome part is that the top part of the road has not been opened to motor traffic for the year, so you can use both sides of the road as you descend.
The freaky part is that there are boulders, tree trunks, and scree galore laying scattered on the road from winter rockslides. Those are bad to hit at thirty miles per hour.
I made a point of looking down so I’d catch some of that craziness on video.
Once you’re past Pine Hollow, the descent opens up and you can go as fast as you dare — and I mean that very literally. I have never quite spun out on that part of the descent because I always chicken out.
Eric, however, did not chicken out, and attacked hard. He blew past us on the left side of the road, fully committed. And, I suspect, really really really hoping there was no oncoming traffic around the bend.
I leaped — my legs are strong, and my big gut isn’t so much of a disadvantage on the descents — and caught Eric as we passed the Tibble Fork turnoff. He and I started working together in a furious bid to keep Dug, Jason, and Mark from bridging.
You see, there’s always a sprint finish at the bottom of American Fork Canyon: the toll booth. Big bragging rights for the winner.
I didn’t have a computer on my bike, but would guess we were north of 40mph on this fantastic working downhill. Pedal with all your might for the fifteen seconds of your pull, then drift left and coast, feathering your brakes in the other guy’s slipstream for fifteen seconds.
Rinse and repeat.
I knew this — along with the sprint at the end — would be the centerpiece of the video.
Or at least, that’s what I thought until we came around a bend — I was pulling at the moment — and suddenly faced the broadside of a bright yellow jeep, in the middle of executing an 18-point U-turn in the middle of a blind mountain bidirectional road.
I grabbed and locked up my rear brake, keeping the front brake open enough so I could still steer. Turns out that fifteen years of riding gives you some useful conditioned reflexes. Simultaneously I yelled “SLOW!” at the top of my lungs, hoping — but not really believing — that Eric would be able to get to his brakes and swerve before he touched my rear wheel.
But he did. He veered to my left, braking hard.
And there, somehow, was Dug, having just about managed to finish bridging to Eric and me, also braking hard and managing to avoid Eric, me, and the jeep.
Disaster averted and back under control, we went around the jeep. I made eye contact and shook my head disappointedly.
Two minutes later, of course, it occurred to me that this would make great video.
Big Sprint Finish
Dug, Eric, and I worked together as we finished the big working descent to the toll booth. Strangely, Dug was taking waaaaay too long of pulls, tiring himself out before the big sprint.
I, however, am not one to complain.
So, from my comfortably-rested second position in the group of three, I opened up and sprinted as hard as I could when I saw the toll booth. In truth, I attacked too early, but Dug had given me such a long rest that I felt I had it in me.
And I did.
Eric threw his bike (almost too far) at the end, but I think we have consensus that I have won my first ever toll booth sprint.
And I had caught it on video, to boot.
Lessons Learned
I had grand intentions of riding up to Suncrest with the group…until we actually got to the climb and I discovered the headwind was two or three shades beyond brutal. “Hmmm,” I asked myself, “Which should I do? Turn around and coast home, or fight a hard headwind for a four mile climb?”
Four minutes later, I was home.
I pulled into my garage, and took off my helmet, wanting to dash up to my computer and upload the video so I could start editing it down to the good parts. I knew I had a winner.
Which, of course, is when I discovered that I had left the lens cap on.
Comments (41)
05.8.2009 | 9:23 am
Yesterday’s post left me cooked. Going from righteous indignation to worry to bafflement to relief was just too much of a rollercoaster ride for me.
Today, I think, I need to write something that is pure and simple. Something good. Something about which, if at all possible, I can full-on gloat.
Hmmm.
Let’s see.
Oh, I’ve got it.
Remember when I wrote that open letter to Specialized, complaining about how fast their mountain bike shoes fell apart for me? Well, toward the end of that post, I said:
I’ve been riding for fifteen years, and the shoe is the one piece of equipment I don’t feel like I’ve ever been perfectly happy with. I’d love to have a bike shoe that changes that. If you think you’ve got that bike shoe, email me.
And you know what? Specialized e-mailed me. In fact, they e-mailed me right away. And then they sent these:
Yes, I am the proud owner of a new set of Specialized BG Pro Carbon MTB shoes. And you know what? They look great, instantly felt comfortable (as I have mentioned, the Specialized Body Geometry fit has always been a strong point with their gloves and shoes), and the product manager told me I talked with said they’ve really been working on their material and construction quality. So I have high hopes for these.
And these shoes are mine to keep — not just test — so I guarantee you I will be checking in from time to time with how these are holding up.
Oh, but that’s not all they sent. Noting that the Specialized BG Ridge gloves I like so much are actually from a season or two ago, Specialized sent me their latest version of the glove:
Specialized points out that for this year, the palm padding isn’t as thick, which is true, and also an excellent call. Especially when riding a singlespeed, the thinner pad feels great, while still doing its job.
Something that is also new with this glove that I love is that it doesn’t have any kind of wristband. The glove just ends at your hand. Although it has a perfectly-placed little tab — look at the “bg” logo in the photo above — that makes it very easy to pull these gloves on.
I tell you: you never notice how restrictive a glove’s wristband is until it’s not there anymore. Losing the band was a huge improvement.
These are, seriously, the best gloves I’ve ever had. I wear them for both road and mountain biking.
The Real Surprise
I kinda sorta expected Specialized to get in touch with me. But I didn’t know if anyone else would. Based on the wild enthusiasm shown for Sidi shoes in the comments of my shoe rant, however, I was pretty excited when Sidi did in fact contact me.
Sidi talked with me for about forty-five minutes about what I wanted from a shoe, how shoes fit, and the kind of riding I like to do, and then sent me these:
Sidi Dominator 5s. In Mega width, thankyouverymuch. I’m pretty certain these are the second most beautiful shoes I have ever owned. And, so far, they fit comfortably — though the real test will be once I’ve broken them in and taken them out for a five-hour ride.
“But Fatty,” I hear you ask, “If these are the second most beautiful shoes you have ever owned, what — pray tell — are the very most beautiful shoes you have owned?”
Oh, well, that’s an easy question. See, Sidi sent me two pairs of shoes:
That’s right, I’ve got a pair of Dragon 2 Carbon SRSs. These shoes adjust to fit in a near-infinite number of ways, including how they fit your heels. They came with replaceable toe-guards, so I don’t destroy the shoes when hike-a-biking.
And they smell just like the inside of a brand new Ferrari. Or at least they did when I first got them. I haven’t checked again since taking them out.
Of course, how beautiful they are is not really the most important thing to me, since soon these shoes — even the Dragons — will be permanently covered in dust and mud. Expect to hear more about how each of these shoes fit and hold together over the long term.
Meanwhile, let’s summarize my mountain biking shoe situation as it stands today:
I told you I was going to gloat, didn’t I?
PS: I managed to lose all but the first 8 or so of the comments to this post. Some nights, it is not good to be the Fat Cyclist.
PPS: For those of you who are curious about how I managed to lose all those comments (>50), here’s what happened. Late Friday night I spent about 45 minutes trying to find a way to be able to watch the Giro, without success. It occurred to me that I was kind of like a junkie trying to get find someone to get me a fix, making increasingly desperate calls to get hooked up. So I started writing a post using that premise, then decided it was a one-line joke, not worth a whole post. So I went to delete the in-progress post. But — remember, this is late at night — I clicked the wrong post (ie, the shoe post) in my blog editing tool (Ecto, for those of you who care) without noticing it was the wrong post. pressed Delete, and answered Yes to the question “Delete both online and local versions?” without thinking about why it would ask me to delete the online version of something I hadn’t yet put online. And so then it was gone, comments and everything. Luckily I had an instance of a browser up with my blog entry and a few comments still showing. Using copy and paste, I replicated the post and those comments, and then promised myself I would never post or delete that late at night again.
Comments (29)
05.7.2009 | 12:13 am
UPDATE 1: After writing this post, I re-read the ESPN piece and noticed the following quote from Lance:
“It could be a combination of people that have a shared interest in Livestrong and want to see Livestrong promoted around the world and believe in what we’re doing.”
It’s a vague, confusing quote, but could mean that instead of using LAF funds, he’s actually considering gathering together an independent group — not leveraging LAF — for the funds. If that’s the case (hard to tell because of other statements in the article, which he did not correct in his Tweet pointing to that article and rejecting only the final line of that piece), then this entire post is null and void, and I will promise to restrict my posts to stuff I know something about. Which, let’s face it, would definitely mean fewer and shorter posts.
UPDATE 2: Early this morning, the ESPN article was updated with the following:
“While as a 501(c)(3) non-profit organization, the Lance Armstrong Foundation would not be able to fund the day-to-day operational expenses of a for-profit endeavor,” Katherine McLane, communications director for the Lance Armstrong Foundation, said in a statement Wednesday evening. “We would certainly look for ways to develop a dynamic partnership to support the cancer mission and cancer survivors.”
This answers my concerns; I’m no longer worried that the money we raised could go toward a cycling team bailout instead of toward fighting cancer. Which means I wrote this letter (instead of the jokey piece I had in mind) and lost most of a night’s sleep (yes, really: I could hardly sleep at all last night because of this) over nothing.
Which is a huge relief.
I’m leaving the post up, however, because I still think one of the points remains valid. Specifically, if the cycling team is branded “LiveStrong,” they need to be very, very careful of appearances; most people won’t realize there’s a difference between the charity and the cycling team.
FINAL UPDATE: I just got the following email message from Katherine McLane, Communications Director at LAF:
Hey there! Read your posts this AM and wanted to let you know that the confusion is a result of a reporter drawing his own conclusions and running with them. At no point did Lance suggest pulling out the LAF checkbook! Clearly he was talking about finding sponsors and raising funds to keep the team afloat. Like I explained to the AP, we’re a non-profit organization and OF COURSE we’d love a world-class cycling team spreading the cancer message. We, quite literally, can’t buy that kind of exposure – because we’re a 501(c)(3)! Would we look for other ways to partner with them and support them? Absolutely!
My final thoughts:
- It’s very cool of the people at LAF to reach out and respond like this. Everyone I’ve talked with there has been incredibly helpful, and it’s clear they’re dedicated to this fight.
- This post was still worth writing, but I’m glad it was unnecessary in this case.
- I’m still totally on board for helping LAF raise money to fight cancer.
- I need a nap.
Dear Lance,
I just finished reading “Astana facing money trouble” over on ESPN. The story has two main points. One of them is that Astana has not been paying the team or staff lately. Which definitely sucks. A lot.
The other point in the article is that you’re considering the option of turning the team into Team LiveStrong for the rest of the season, funding it — if I understand correctly — out of the Lance Armstrong Foundation.
Before you do that, Lance, there are a few things I want you to consider.
Do Not Do This Just Because You Can
Turning Team Astana into Team LiveStrong would be easy to do. You’re on the team, and you have the money. Back in September, I even postulated that this is what you would (and should) do.
But that ESPN article has got me worried.
In it, you said:
“I’ve spent every day of the year with my soigneur [massage assistant] Richard, a Polish guy. He’s got a wife and two young kids at home and doesn’t get a paycheck,” Armstrong said. “I can pay his check, which will probably happen, but there’s 30 other staff in the same position and is that frustrating? Yeah. Very. This is not fair.”
Reading this, it sounds like one of your motivations for using LAF funds for this team is because you don’t like the thought of team staff going without paychecks.
This will sound callous, but that’s not a good enough reason. If the LiveStrong cycling team is about helping friends pay the bills, well, I’ve got friends who are hurting financially too, and I’d rather help them than your masseuse.
When I donate my money and time — and ask hundreds of other people to donate their money and time — it is because I have made a specific ethical decision: It’s more important to me to spend my money and time on fighting cancer than anything else. I have decided to use my money and time — both in short supply right now, thanks — to fight cancer. To save lives.
I have not decided to use my money or time to save your friends’ jobs.
It may sound like I am now condemning the Team LiveStrong concept here, but I am not. I’m for it, provided that the team mission is crystal-clear and measurable. And that mission must be the exact same one I’ve already committed to: fight cancer, help those who are fighting it themselves, and raise awareness of cancer detection and treatment options throughout the world.
If, before you sign the dotted line, you and the people at LAF — people I’ve come to admire a lot — put your heads together and approach the problem from the perspective of “Will this help LAF move our current mission forward?” as opposed to “Will this solve a financial crisis for a cycling team?” and you show us — the people who are working hard to make sure LAF has the money it needs to do its work — how a pro cycling team is a good use of our money (hint: having racers wear the jerseys as they otherwise conduct their lives as usual is nowhere near enough), I will continue to support you as strongly as I am right now.
But the case has to be strong, clear, and public.
Do the Math
I can think of only two reasons an organization would sponsor a cycling team: marketing and vanity. It seems possible — even likely — that a LiveStrong cycling team could be great marketing for LAF. It could raise awareness not just for discovering and fighting cancer, but even for raising additional money toward the LAF mission, especially outside the U.S., where cycling awareness is strong, but where LAF awareness and fundraising are comparably weak.
Or, on the other hand, it could be a complete money pit.
The truth is, it’s sometimes initially hard to tell which way a marketing initiative will go.
By the end of a half season, however, you should have good data on whether a LiveStrong cycling team is paying off. If you now decide it’s worth the risk (and can show why you think so), then find out later you were wrong, I will not be upset. You’ve got to take chances sometimes, and sometimes they don’t work out. However, if it’s clear that a cycling team is not at least paying for itself by bringing in increased donations or by accomplishing other LAF objectives more cost-effectively than the money would if used in another way, you’ve got to cut it loose.
I won’t participate in the funding of a multi-year experiment.
Remember and Respect Our Efforts
Here’s something to keep in mind as you consider team expenses: one of the people raising funds for you is my wife, Susan Nelson. She is living with metastatic breast cancer, spread all throughout her body and brain. Her time is precious, and she has spent hundreds of hours (and hundreds of dollars) working to raise close to $9000 for your foundation, making beautiful jewelry and giving it to those who donate.
She has chosen to spend her time this way because she cares deeply about fighting cancer.
If, when she watches the Tour de France this year, she sees an extravagant team bus or hears of lavish parties being thrown by the team, how do you think she will feel about the way she chose to spend her time?
Similarly, I have asked my readers, over and over, to donate generously. And I have asked companies to donate expensive products, in spite of the crummy economy. And they have, because they want to do the right thing, and they trusted that I have chosen a good, effective partner in fighting cancer.
Please, do not prove me wrong.
Lance, you and your organization have earned gratitude and respect from my readers and me for what you have done in the fight against cancer. If a pro cycling team is really the best — not just a convenient — use of that money toward fighting and eliminating cancer, I’ll get behind you.
Just make sure you are doing this to further the mission, and not just because it’s a handy band-aid.
Sincerely,
Elden “Fatty” Nelson
Comments (38)
05.6.2009 | 3:44 pm
I have tried running. Really, I have. I was in Track in high school (though I don’t know if the pole vault is really considered running). I’ve run a half-marathon. I’ve run a full marathon. One year, I even took to trail running so I could participate in the inaugural MXT – a short-lived (only happened once) IronMan-distance offroad triathlon (as opposed to my own Triathalon, which was more my kind of thing).
That said, I believe that I have made it clear: I am not a runner.
But if I were a runner, I’d sign up to run with Team LIVESTRONG and do one of the World Marathon Majors. Because, really, it would be kind of cool to be able to say that you had run the Boston Marathon (or the London, Berlin, NYC, or Chicago Marathon) and done something in the fight against cancer, all in one day.
And in the fight against cancer, the Lance Armstrong Foundation is a good partner. I’ve mentioned before that when Susan’s cancer came back, the Lance Armstrong Foundation was incredibly responsive with both support and information. And as other people have emailed me questions about where they should turn with their cancer diagnoses (one of the most painful and worthwhile parts of doing this blog), I’ve pointed them to the LAF.
And I’m always glad I do. Little by little I’m getting to know some of the people at the LAF, and every single one of them takes the fight against cancer incredibly personally. Personally enough to have made it their profession.
But it’s not just the intensity and the caring of the LAF that makes me like them. It’s the vision and scope. They’re big enough to make a big difference and have a big vision. They’ve raised $181,000,000 for cancer survivorship programs. They’re embarking on a push to make cancer a global issue.
That’s thinking big. And it’s a cause worth joining.
But I’m Not a Runner
Of course, I don’t run. And – oddly enough – some of you don’t ride bikes. But if you can ride, walk, or run, you can be part of Team LIVESTRONG. And might I suggest you join Team Fatty when you do? We’re in all four event cities: Seattle, San Jose, Austin, and Philadelphia. Team Fatty’s pretty proud to be part of the LIVESTRONG movement, and to be making a difference in the fight against cancer.
I’d love to have you along as we fight cancer together. No matter what distance you go or how you get there.
Comments (16)
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