01.6.2016 | 4:36 pm
A Note from Fatty: If you haven’t read the previous installments of this race report, you should read them before you read this. So that it at least has a chance of making sense to you.
Another Note from Fatty: If perchance you hope to register for this race, I understand registration opens 6 January at 7pm MST.
It’s a little bit bizarre how often I changed groups while racing the 2015 Crusher in the Tushar.
Early in the race, I was floating through various strata of age groups. Then I sifted through climbers of different abilities…’til I found one that fit me. Then I found myself in an entirely new group: people who were good at climbing, but bad at descending, and pretty good at working in a group.
But now, suddenly, all those groups were gone, and I was in no group at all.
Now I was on a rough jeep road, and would be for the next five or so miles. And I guess that’s a solitary experience, because this enormous group I’d been working with — our paceline had been greater than twenty people when we came through the aid station — had completely dispersed.
Which meant that I got to ride my favorite section of the course by myself.
My Happy Place
Everyone has their favorite kind of riding, which means that the Crusher has something to offer to everyone. Part of it’s a road race. Part of it’s a gravel grinder. And this five mile section is a mountain bike race.
Not technical, but it helps to pick your line. And it helps to have a mountain bike (the only section of the race, in fact, where a mountain bike is a huge help).
It rolls along nicely, climbing for a couple miles. Then it levels off, does a little more climbing, and then levels off some more. It has a great flow. It’s what I’m good at, and I was having fun.
Considering the name someone gave the section on Strava, however (Mojave Desert Hell), I guess I might be in the minority of folks who love this part of the race.
The Test
Every really great race has an iconic section: the make-or-break section that truly matters. The place that exposes your strength or weakness (or, most often, both).
For the Crusher in the Tushar, this is the Col du Crush, aka the Crusher KOM. 2300 feet of dirt road climbing in five miles. Starting at fifty-one miles into the race. With the knowledge that even once you finish this section, you’re going to continue climbing, most of the time, for another fifteen miles or so.
Perhaps it’s just a subconcious defense mechanism, but I have only the vaguest of recollections of this section.
I remember pain.
I remember hunting for an easier line, one with less loose gravel. I remember shifting to my easiest gear, then frequently checking to see if a new, easier gear had spontaneously manifested on my bike. (Hey, if there was ever a time for spontaneous gear manifestations, this was that time.)
I remember a guy in a Chamois Butt’r kit telling me (as he effortlessly passed me) that he had had three flats that day.
I also remember pain.
I remember dialing back my effort just a little, because I felt a cramp coming on and remembered the debilitating, ride-stopping cramp I had experienced at this point the last time I had raced the Crusher.
Mostly, though, I remember pain.
The Long Pull
Just one more mile ’til the top of the climb. I was in my element, racing like I had never raced before. Climbing like a man possessed. Possessed by something that likes to climb, that is.
Ahead of me, I saw a woman I recognized. But it was one of those weird recognitions: I knew I didn’t know her name, and couldn’t even figure out where I knew her from.
Then it popped into my head: The Cedar City Fire Road 100. She and I had been within a couple hundred feet of each other for most of the race, ’til she had cramped and gotten off her bike. I didn’t realize it at the time, but it was the elite racer, Amy.
She asked if she could ride my wheel; she was already maxed out.
“Sure you can,” I replied. “There’s always room on the Fatty Train.”
I saw my next carrot: a woman wearing a “Juliana” jersey. Kelli Emmett. I stood up, began rowing my bike. I wanted to see this woman’s bike. I had my reasons.It was not easy to catch her. Not easy at all. But I managed.
Barely.
I did not speak once I had caught her. I needed a minute for the tunnel vision to recede. As I tucked in and tried not to get dropped, I looked at her bike: a gorgeous Juliana Nevis hardtail.
“So, how do you like that Juliana?” I asked, doing my best to get her to talk…and therefore slow down.
“It’s amazing,” Kelli replied. Then she stood up and attacked, dropping me.
At which point Amy swung around from behind me and latched onto Kelli.
“Well, I don’t really want to be left behind,” I thought to myself, and stood up, jumping to catch the train. Perfectly willing to just hang on.
But as it turned out, Kelli popped as soon as I caught up, drifting back. Which put Amy in a good spot to grab back onto my wheel.
She apologized for not taking a pull. I laughed; as knife-thin as she was she wouldn’t have offered me any kind of respite by pulling. Plus we were climbing at about 0mph anyway. Getting a “pull” had a psychological benefit, at best…and a (highly probable) massive olfactory disadvantage, at worst.
Grizzly Adam, Minus Wheels
It is a statement of fact that in the Crusher, you are never done with the climbing until you are done with the race. That said, eventually the lion’s share of the climbing is behind you and you can start rebuilding your average speed back into the double digits.
On one of the flat sections — with about five miles to go — I saw a racer on the side of the road. Working on his bike. A small group of spectators were clustered around him.
“Grizzly” Adam Lisonbee. I was passing Adam. Which I would never have expected to do. He’s made a bit of a life study of this race, and he’s faster than I am anyway.
I yelled “Hey Adam” as I went by, and only later would find out that — rather than DNF — he would walk the final five miles of the race.
I admire that. I wouldn’t do that, but I do admire it.
Finish Line
When we hit the pavement with just a few miles to go, the course began taking turns going up…then down. Then up again, then down some more.
Amy would hang on during the climbs, then drop me on the descents. Then I’d claw my way back to her on the climbs.
Finally, I was at the final mile. One very steep mile, averaging eight percent.
I averaged 7.1mph up that mile and am pleased to say that nobody passed me.
At least, I don’t remember anyone passing me.
But it’s possible that I don’t remember it because I’ve learned to block the memory of traumatic experiences, in order to continue registering for races like this.
With a half-mile to go, I did a doubletake: there was Amy, ahead of me.
What?
How did that happen?
Then I figured it out as I got closer: it wasn’t Amy; it was another woman (Anne Perry, who’d take fourth in the Pro/Open category), wearing the same team jersey.
“You’ve got a teammate about one minute back,” I said, as I went by. Then I wondered why I said it. In case she wanted to hold up and wait for her? In case she didn’t want her teammate to outsprint her? Just to be informative?
Whatever.
I went as hard as I could, just burying myself because…well, because this is the Crusher in the Tushar. You don’t want to cross the finish line feeling good.
And I finished well. It was my fastest Crusher (by almost half an hour) of the three times I’ve done it: 5:16:18. Which is good enough for fourteenth (out of 71) in the Men’s 40-49 category.
But it would’ve been good enough to get me on the podium (fifth place) in the Men’s 50+ category. Which is my new age group for the 2016 Crusher.
So take heed, oldsters.
Podiums and Sandbags
I went and changed my clothes (you can send a drop bag with a change of clothes to the finish line before the race) and went to wait for my friends and family.
By the time I had changed, Ben was already in: 5:39:22. We stood together, watching for our respective wives to come in.
What I don’t think either of us expected, though, was that they’d be coming in together, side by side:
“Oh, that’s cool. They’re going to finish together,” I said.
“No they aren’t,” said Ben.
And as it turns out, Ben knows his wife better than I know my niece. With about fifty feet to go, Lindsey attacked on the steep climb. The Hammer did not react, and Lindsey, won by seven seconds (5:59:55 and 6:00:02, respectively).
[A Note from Fatty: Lindsey disputes the above account of events. See her comment for her version of what happened in this race. And click here for a Strava flyby of the Hammer v Lindsey race.]
This put Lindsey on the 35 & Under Women podium in third place:
And it also ignited just a little bit of a fire in The Hammer’s belly.
As for The Hammer, she also took third in the 36-49 Women age group. Here she is, showing off her cool trophy:
And here’s the full podium:
And who else was on the podium?
AnneMarie White (second place) turned in a fantastic performance, beating Lisa by just over five minutes.
Meanwhile, first place in the women’s 36-49 age group category went to Amy.
Yeah, Amy. The woman I had been pulling for fifteen miles. Amy beat second place AnneMarie by a full half hour. Her time, in fact, would have put her on the women’s pro/open podium.
Which is where she should have been.
Look, here’s the thing: If you’re an elite roadie, it doesn’t matter if you are somewhat new to mountain biking when you’re racing a course that’s 50% pavement and 45% graded dirt road.
If your recent USA Cycling results look like this, you shouldn’t be racing against age groupers.
What’s the big deal? Well, I’m not making this point on The Hammer’s behalf (although I probably wouldn’t have noticed this huge gap in times on the podium if The Hammer hadn’t also been on it). It’s on AnneMarie’s behalf, even though I’m pretty sure I’ve never met her.
AnneMarie is a local rider and mother of young kids. She’s obviously been knocking herself out to become wicked fast. She’s an actual age-grouper who has stepped up her game, and she deserved to race against other age groupers, netting a win.
I actually asked Burke about this; he said that racers get to choose their own categories in this race. In general, this honor system works. If someone sandbags, they may get on the podium, but they expose themselves to the consequences.
Plus, I’m just a little bit bugged that I helped someone increase her gap on my wife.
[A Note from Fatty: A few folks have commented that I incorrectly portrayed Amy as a pro; I’ve edited this post to fix that. She isn’t and hasn’t been a pro. (She has been on multiple elite teams, however, which is where my confusion came from.)
I’ve also removed her last name in the text so this post won’t appear on searches for her name. And I’ve pulled out the giant USA Cycling screencap that calls undue attention to what is in fact a pretty small part of the story.
Some have also commented that it was not cool for me to bring this up at all. I disagree with that. This is my blog; I get to say when I see something wrong.
I highly recommend reading the comments, though, to get alternative perspectives. And note that they are all making their points without getting insulting. I appreciate that.]
Chill Out Fatty
OK, take a deep breath, Fatty. The world didn’t end. This race, on the other hand, did end, months and months ago. And The Hammer never seemed particularly fussed.
And in fact, this was in almost all respects a perfect day of racing. Burke Swindlehurst (shown below with The Hammer and me, and also demonstrating how much thinner this kind of hoodie can look when properly worn) and his crew put on an incredible race.
The Hammer and I are cutting back on the number of races we’re doing in 2016, basically reacting to the awareness that we’ve gone a little nuts for racing the past couple years.
We won’t be at as many races; we’re going to do more riding for fun.
But we will be back to the Crusher in the Tushar. Every. Single. Year.
It’s that good.
Comments (35)
01.5.2016 | 7:12 am
A Topically-Relevant New Podcast Note from Fatty: Is it a coincidence that I’m continuing my long-overdue race report about the 2015 Crusher in the Tushar today…on the very selfsame day I’m promoting my FattyCast interview with Burke Swindlehurst?
Is it furthermore possible that I’m continuing a race report and promoting a podcast just a day before registration opens for the 2016 Crusher in the Tushar?
Possibly. You’ll never know for sure.
Regardless, Burke Swindlehurst — the mad genius behind this incredible race — is an extraordinarily good guy. He puts this race on for the right reasons. Talking with him for an hour — was a pleasure. This has been one of my favorite FattyCast conversations yet.
Here’s my episode description:
I go to a lot of races, and I like most of them. But I can’t help but wonder: what it is that makes me love a very select few events — the ones that compel me to come back year after year? I don’t know, but former pro Burke Swindlehurst seems to have gallons of that secret sauce on hand. Like just about everyone I talk to, I’ve got Burke’s half-road, half-dirt race stuck in my head. We talk about the how and the why of this unusual event, as well as why Burke has no plans to follow up the success of this race with another.
Find it on iTunes, Stitcher, FattyCast.com, get the RSS feed, or listen / download it below:
An “OK, Where Were We?” Note from Fatty
I love writing race reports. I get a chance to take this incredibly intense experience — sometimes intense in a good way, sometimes in a bad way, but always intense — and make sense of it. Find the story — including heroes, villains, and dramatic tension — in it.
And in many ways, I get to relive the event. Often, as I write, I’ll be surprised to recall an instant or image that hasn’t crossed my mind since I crossed the finish line.
And so it’s no surprise, I suppose, that during the summer, my blog has tilted very heavily toward race reports.
Some very long race reports.
Meanwhile, my summer filled up with races. To the extent, in fact, that I got behind on some of these race reports. Including, I’m sad to say, on my Crusher in the Tushar report…in which I got two installments into the thing (here’s part 1 and here’s part 2), and then got sidetracked.
The problem is, once you lose momentum on a story, it can be very hard to get that momentum back. At first, you say to yourself, “Hey, I’ve already let it go for a couple days and I’ve got this other thing I need to talk about, so it can wait another day.”
And then you start saying, “Well it’s been a couple weeks now and by now, nobody even remembers that I wrote a story about it.
In spite of the fact that at least a few people are being very clear that they haven’t forgotten about it:
And then, eventually, you say to yourself, “I’m not sure I remember the details of the race well enough to tell the story any longer.”
But then, last night, I couldn’t sleep. I just laid there in bed, sleepless. And during this sleepless two hours, I re-told myself the story of my 2015 Crusher in the Tushar. A wonderful seventy miles, with 10,000 feet of climbing.
And while I don’t perhaps remember every detail of the day, I definitely remember enough of the day to finish the story.
So let’s do this. Part three… of a race report I began last July.
How’s that for a cliffhanger?
2015 Crusher in the Tushar Race Report, Part 3
I had finished the first big 4000-foot climb, and I dropped Ben. Which was too bad. Or maybe it was on purpose. I’m not sure.
Okay, let’s just agree that my feelings regarding catching, pulling, and then dropping Ben on this big climb were…complicated. Here’s why:
- Ben is my niece’s husband. So we’re family. So I want him to succeed.
- Ben is young. So I want to beat him.
- Ben is a genuinely nice guy. So I want him to succeed.
- Ben is tall, thin, good-looking, and has a full head of hair. So I want to beat him.
- Ben has never shown any indication that he’s interested in beating me. So I shouldn’t care about beating him.
- Ben is likely to get faster as I get slower. So I want to beat him.
And in the final analysis, I really want Ben to do really well in every race he does.
A picture of Lindsey and Ben at the summit of the Nebo loop during a training ride in Summer 2015.
Just so long as I do a tiny bit better.
Highway to the Danger Zone
My Ben-less status was beside the point, really, because as soon as you hit the top of the first big climb in the Crusher, you have a crazy-steep descent down the other side.
And I wasn’t going to go down that descent at any speed other than the speed I felt safe at. Because that descent down what is affectionately known as the “Col du Crush” is scary.
No, it’s not a treacherous and narrow strip of rocky, rooty singletrack. It is, in fact, a wide gravel road, with fairly gentle bends.
But it is so steep. And it is so loose. And (in places) it is so washboarded. It’s everything you can do to just keep the bike under control as you bomb down this 7 – 11% grade downhill for about seven miles.
A lot of people passed me during the descent; I have no recollection of passing even a single person. And that was just fine with me.
Of the entire race — all seventy miles of it — there is only one section that scares me, one section I look forward to having behind me: the Col du Crush descent. Maybe that’s because every year, coming down this road, I have seen at least one person who has gone down. And high-speed gravel crashes, while generally not fatal, are pretty nasty-looking.
This year was no different. On the side of the road, there was a guy, thickly surrounded by many more racers who had stopped to help. I felt caught between feeling awful for the injured rider and grateful that so many people instantly suspended their own race to help out someone they probably don’t know.
Not being seriously trained in first aid, I decided to keep going and be the guy to yell to volunteers that someone was hurt.
“We know,” the volunteers shouted back, and sure enough, by the time I got to the pavement — where I could relax and breathe again — an ambulance was on its way up.
Looking at my Strava record of this section, I’m frankly astonished I hit 42mph of this section. (I’m going to guess it was on the paved section of the descent, toward the end.)
Wherein I Make a Smart Decision for the First Time Ever
Here, take a look at the elevation profile for the Crusher:
There’s something very interesting about that profile: once you do that one big descent down the Col du Crush (around mile 35), you’re more-or-less done with any serious descents for the day.
Which is one of the reasons I love this race. Lots and lots of climbing, and only one descent of any consequence.
Mixed in with all that, however, is one fairly long — fourteenish miles — downhill-then-flat paved section, where having a group to work with can make all the difference in the world.
The difference between fast and slow. The difference between getting back to the climbing fresh or beat. The difference between smart and dumb.
Of course, I hit that section all alone. It was inevitable. I climb much faster than most people, so I’m way ahead of folks who descend at my speed. And then people who are fast climbers and descenders leave me behind during the Col du Crush descent.
So, like I said: all alone to battle my way through the wind for fourteen miles, never getting a break, and arriving at the climbing section completely smoked.
Or…I could sit up. Coast and recover. Drink a bunch. Eat a bunch. And then grab on to the first train that came by.
My instincts yelled at me to go. Go go go. You don’t rest during a race.
I told my instincts to shut up. I pedaled easy. I coasted. I ate. I drank. I recovered. I kept looking over my shoulder.
And within a minute, a train appeared behind me. By the time they caught me, I was back up to speed and yelled, “Mind if I join you?”
“Hop on, Fatty!” someone yelled.
I looked back to see who it was.
Ben. Of course. I laughed. I was halfway through the race and had — without trying — wound up in the same train as my nephew-in-law. I was no longer conflicted about riding with him; I was stoked. We were fated to race this thing together.
“Let’s kill this thing,” I said.
Express Train
I (and I think a lot of people) owe a debt of gratitude to Adam Lisonbee for getting me interested in the Crusher in the Tushar in the first place. It was his story that piqued my interest in the event.
That said, I used to be kind of skeptical of it. There’s no technical riding, just a mix of dirt roads and pavement.
But you know what? The pavement in this race — especially the 14mi Piute Valley Pavement section — is hugely strategic. If you handle it right, you can get through it without having worked too hard, and much faster than you would be able to do it yourself.
And I handled this section pretty darned well.
As the train caught me, I dropped to the back, perfectly happy to get pulled for a minute, with the expectation that I would do my fair share of pulling.
But the guy in front…well, he seemed to be under the impression that this locomotive had only one engine, and he was it. So he pulled, and he pulled, and he pulled. Never floating to the side and dropping back, never gesturing to anyone to come forward.
And so the rest of the group — four or five of us — let him pull. Hey, who were we to say otherwise?
Until, of course, he started to sag.
Even then, though, he didn’t pull off. He kept going. But pulling slower and slower was not OK. I moved forward, yelled at the guy that he was awesome and needed to drop back and catch his breath; I’d take a turn now.
He dropped back, looking — it seemed to me, anyway — grateful. Maybe he didn’t realize you don’t have to keep pulling ’til you’re exhausted?
I, on the other hand, pulled for fifteen seconds, yelling as I drifted off to keep the pulls short.
The next guy did a nice, short, fast pull. Then Ben did, then the next guy did, and the next, and then back to the original leader. By then he had learned his lesson and he kept it short.
And we were flying.
Before long, we had caught another train, creating a group of more than ten people. And then a train caught us, forming a megatrain.
From that point forward, I don’t think I ever had to pull for more than ten seconds, then rest and just get sucked along for the next two minutes or more.
The miles flew by so much faster than I’ve ever done this paved section before. Twelve minutes faster than I did this same section on my singlespeed back in 2013, at an average speed of 22.5mph. Riding a mountain bike.
And now we had reached the aid station right before the five-mile jeep road section. I grabbed a bottle of water handed up to me by a fantastic volunteer and kept going (total number of times I put a foot down and stopped during this race: 0).
I looked behind me to tell Ben that drafting wouldn’t matter anymore. We were back to mountain biking.
But I couldn’t see Ben anywhere.
Which seems like a good place to pick up this story in the next installment (which I will not take months to write, I promise).
Comments (15)
01.4.2016 | 2:44 pm
Hi there.
So I was all super excited to come back to the blog after my Christmas and New Years’ holidays. Because I have a lot of fun things I want to talk about, mostly in the form of catching up on my ride reports, and also in the form of getting a collaborative / competitive weight-loss thing going for the year.
But life has had a slightly different plan for me right now.
Remember how I talked about a MRSA infection I dealt with a couple months ago? Yeah, well, evidently that game’s not over. During the past ten days, I’ve been fighting a new one, and today I finally had to get a little bit of cutting done on me.
So I’m not at my best right now.
And I’ll be spending quite a bit of time at the doctor’s each day for the next week or so.
What’s surprising to me is how exhausted I feel right now. And it’s not the good kind of exhausted I get from riding. It’s more of a too-exhausted-to-think, too-exhausted-to-try kind of exhausted.
I think I’m not putting this very well, for the same reason.
I’m going to get the rest I need now, and I’ll be back tomorrow.
Honest.
Comments (28)
12.30.2015 | 2:12 pm
2015 is almost over. Which means this is a perfect opportunity for me to write a post that increases traffic (not to mention lines my pockets with the huge amount of money I make from ad sales), without me having to do any actual writing. Except for this introduction, which is a very good introduction indeed.
As you’re awkwardly standing at New Year’s parties, wishing you were anywhere else (but especially somewhere else that had a bike nearby), you’re sure to have some time to pull out your phone and do some reading.
May I humbly suggest you read any or all of the following, which I consider to be some of my least-awful work from 2015?
Rockwell Relay Race Report
I think most people would agree that my 2015 Rockwell Relay Race Report the best race report I’ve ever written. It also distinguishes itself as one of very few instances on the internet where the comments section is not only not horrible, but actually adds to the quality of the story.
This is a good solid party’s-worth of reading, right here.
Three Terrific (AND CHEAP) Last-Minute Gifts to Get for The Cyclist In Your Life
Last week I wrote what I consider to be the very best guide for present buying there has ever been. I’m pretty sure nobody read it. Please remedy this oversight.
Movie Review: Star Wars: The Force Awakens is a HUGE DISAPPOINTMENT
My mistake, when writing this, was that I didn’t make clear that I wrote this review well before I saw the movie, and that it has nothing to do with the actual movie. Hence, my clickbait headline completely backfired.
More to the point, you can read this review without learning anything. Also, you can read the comments and find that a few people didn’t exactly get the joke.
100 Miles of Nowhere, 2015 Camp Kesem Leadership Summit Edition
Going to Michigan with my twins and racing the 100 Miles of Nowhere on a stage was a huge highlight in my year. This is worth reading again.
Separation Anxiety
The Hammer, The Swimmer and I went on a little mountain bike ride. And pretty much everything went wrong.
All Better, Briefly
Having a cold sucks. This is the story of how wonderful it feels to get out on a ride in spite of feeling miserable, and — briefly, temporarily — feel all better.
Leadville 100 Race Report
2015 was the year of race reports for me. Heck, I’ve got a bunch of race reports from 2015 I still need to get back to work on.
My annual Leadville 100 race report happened to be a pretty darned good one, if I say so myself. And I do.
The Precipitation Negotiations
You want to ride. But the weather and terrain are prohibitively bad. But you’ve traveled so far. But the trail is a mucky mess. But you really really want to ride. This is that story.
The Clipless Pedal Monologues
Remember when you first started riding clipless? So do I.
Sleeping with Your Bike is a Terrible Idea
Lots of people say they love their bikes so much they are considering kicking their human partner out of bed. This is why you should reconsider this very stupid idea.
Conclusion
I’m glad I could rescue you from having to interact with actual people.
Happy new year!
Comments (4)
12.28.2015 | 2:10 pm
I don’t want to make this post about me. Not too much, anyway. I want to make it about Diane Lees, the incredibly engaging host of the radio show / podcast The Outspoken Cyclist.
But first, I do want to say something about The FattyCast — my new podcast.
Specifically, I want to say that for the first time since I started this blog nearly eleven years ago, I’m completely and totally in love with a new way of communicating.
When I started this blog, I always had a huge backlog of ideas I wanted to write about. I couldn’t wait to write my next post. Sometimes I had multiple posts going at the same time, and I just desperately wanted the next day to come, so I could put the next one up and see what people think.
Of course, over the course of eleven years, I’ve become a lot more comfortable with this blog. Now it’s an old friend. I enjoy writing it, but it’s been a while since I felt like I was breaking new ground with it.
With the FattyCast, though, I’m loving the fact that it’s not about me. I’m loving thinking about all the people who do such cool things with or on or about or for bikes, and talking with them. Just having conversations with them, learning from them, and then sharing what I’ve learned.
I’m also loving how much I’m learning, and how quickly. I can tell that I’m very much a beginner and make a lot of mistakes. But also that I’m learning quickly, and am already making fewer mistakes than I did at first.
And I love how generous people are being with their time.
So. Whether you already listen to a lot of podcasts or to none at all, let me put in a plug here: try out The FattyCast (you can subscribe on iTunes). It’s just me, talking with people who love bikes and biking.
And let me know who else you think I ought to have as guests.
Diane Lees
One of the people who really inspired me to begin this podcast is Diane Lees, the host of the popular podcast and radio show, The OutSpoken Cyclist.
Diane has been doing this show for five years, with nearly 300 episodes and nearly double that number in guests.
But her experience in the world of cycling goes way deeper than that. She rides. She’s been a bike shop owner. She’s been a promoter. She’s written a book on touring.
She’s 69 years old, but has the energy (and voice) of someone half that age.
You can listen or download the podcast below, get it on iTunes, or find it on FattyCast.com.
It’s a great hour of conversation with an amazing woman. I’m a huge fan of Diane Lees.
Comments (7)
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