06.6.2008 | 9:58 am
A couple days ago, I was riding my road bike down Suncrest, flying at 45-50mph.
Tight tuck. Arms and legs tensed and pulled in close. Eyes in narrow slits. Tears streaming sideways. Teeth bared.
And that is when a bug smacked into my teeth. Full force. I’m pretty sure it exploded on impact.
And so I did exactly what I’ve done a million times before, and which I’m sure you have done just as many times when a bug flies into your mouth while you’re cycling: I began hacking and spitting, desperate to get the insect — or, more accurately, insect parts — out of my mouth. Stat.
And then…well, then…something horrible, yet fascinating happened. Something unexpected. Something I have yet to come to terms with. A realization I still am trying to find ways to deny:
That bug did not taste half-bad.
Yes, you read that right.
That insect that slammed into my teeth, exploding into a million little raw atom-sized bug parts, left a pleasant, nutty aftertaste.
You cannot know how much this distresses me.
I mean: I like the taste of bugs? Raw bugs?! That’s not possible, is it?
Except, evidently it is.
So I’m confronted with a host of questions, each equally disturbing.
- What kind of bug was it? Or do I really want to know? Because if I find out, would I dare try another one?
- Do I like the taste of all bugs? Or do I just like the one kind? It seems likely that if one kind of bug is delicious, others are too. I can’t believe I just typed that sentence.
- Have I missing out on something really wonderful my whole life by not being an eater of bugs?
- Should I, from this point forward, ride with my mouth open, and crunch thoughtfully and appreciatively on whatever snack happens to find its way into my mouth?
Of course, there’s considerable upside to this, potentially. I mean, with as many bugs as I smack into in an average ride, I could easily stop bringing energy food with me on rides. Think of all the money I’d save. And I’m sure my friends wouldn’t be grossed out at all.
I am horrified, even as I am intrigued.
Please excuse me while I go brush my teeth and floss. For the thousandth time this week.
Comments (114)
06.5.2008 | 12:00 pm
As we drive to her radiation treatments, Susan often looks out the window and says something like, “Look at all those people out there, living normal lives. They’re going to work, going to grocery stores, and driving their own cars. They don’t have any idea how great that is.” She finishes with her main point: “I wish I could be normal.”
I think I see what she means, from a couple of perspectives.
First, I share in Susan’s sense of the surreal. Last night I was doing the math, and realized it’s been about seven years since Susan and I have lived a “normal” life, when you consider that since the end of the first trimester of the twins’ pregnancy, it’s been one thing after another.
Normal, to us, sounds pretty darned exotic.
Second, it’s hard to picture how — with all we’ve got going on — anyone could be doing normal things, probably not even thinking about how good normal feels.
But then, this morning, it occurred to me: this is a filtered and constricted way of looking at things. While I’ve been thinking about all the normal things we miss, I’ve simultaneously still been taking for granted a lot of the really great normal things that we have.
So, today, here is a list of normal things. The ones Susan and I have, I am making an effort to not take them for granted today. The ones we don’t have, I’d like you to take a moment and appreciate having them yourself.
Normal Things We Miss
- Easy sleep. For a while, sleep eluded Susan altogether. Now she sleeps pretty well, but that’s primarily due to a powerful cocktail of drugs I give her every night. I, on the other hand, have the ability to sleep at a moment’s notice and for any period of time. I no longer take the pleasure of nodding off for granted.
- Automatic actions. Try this sometime: describe to someone how to tie a shoelace. Not easy, is it? And yet, you can probably do this — along with other sophisticated motions you’ve done thousands of times in your life — without giving them more than the briefest of thoughts. When Susan lost the ability to do these automatic, reflexive actions, I realized how difficult they are, and how many of these actions I perform in a normal day: fastening a seatbelt, rising from a chair, swinging a leg over a bike. We do some intricate stuff without ever thinking about it. Next time you tie your shoe, think about how nice it is to be able to do so. I know that Susan was certainly grateful when that ability came back to her after weeks of radiation.
- Walking. Everybody, at some point in their life, winds up off their feet for a while. I don’t think I need to go into how much it makes you appreciate being able to easily get around.
- Energy. The next time you do a little errand and then have energy to go do another one, relish it.
Normal Things We Have That I Am Trying to Not Take for Granted
- A good job. When most people say they have a good job, they mean that they’re not in danger of being fired, and they can tolerate coming into work. I, on the other hand, have an honest-to-goodness good job. And furthermore, it’s at a good company, which has recently made considerable changes to its policy to not merely accommodate my situation, but to go a step further and help out.
- Great kids. All four of my kids are healthy, with no special diet restrictions, allergies, or physical challenges. All four of them are gifted in some way: the oldest in computers and math, the second in all academics, and the girls in art. And all four have a strong ethical grounding — Susan’s most important gift to them.
- Good friends. I look around at most men my age, and they don’t really have many — if any — close friends. I have the core team, which has shown itself to be much, much more than a group of riding buddies. Further, I have the enormous group of friends that make up the readership of this blog.
- A good marriage. The only thing worse than something like this happening to Susan and me after twenty years of a good marriage is the realization of how awful it would be if we had not had a good marriage.
- A good hobby. Everyone talks about their hobbies and what they do for fun. Cycling, though, is much more than a hobby for me. It’s a giant reset button. I can be having the worst day ever; after ninety minutes on a bike, I’ve got my balance back and am ready to take care of my wife, my kids, and anything else that comes my way.
This is just a start. What “normal” things are you going to take a moment to appreciate today?
Comments (86)
06.3.2008 | 12:27 pm
My sister Jodi arrived from Brooklyn (courtesy of frequent flyer points donated by a Fat Cyclist reader) last night, here to help take care of the family for several days.
Jodi brought a DVD with her — an early birthday present for me. It’s a DVD she — with the help of her husband — secretly put together, after evidently communicating with dozens of you, getting you to send in your photos and well-wishes for Susan.
Both Susan and I thought it was one of the most incredibly thoughtful gifts ever made, and I wanted to share it. So I ripped it and uploaded it onto YouTube this morning. Watch:
Whether you’re one of the people who sent in a photo, one of the people who has sent an email or left a comment, one of the people who has made a donation or bought a jersey or t-shirt, or one of the people who reads anonymously: Thank you. Your support helps both of us.
Comments (116)
06.2.2008 | 2:11 pm
Here at Fat Cyclist, Inc., we seek to do far more than simply entertain. Far more. We also want to educate you, offering practical tips and advice regarding all aspects of the cycling experience.
Today, we will help you learn the art of hiding your gut while being photographed in a skin-tight cycling jersey.
Basic Techniques
Not long ago, we posted the following photo as a simple illustration of a group of friends about to participate in a fight to the death friendly race.
What we did not point out, however, was that this photo also demonstrates many simple techniques you can use to hide your gut. Starting at the left, let’s review.
- Dug is using two techniques to hide his burgeoning middle-age paunch. First, he is wearing outlandish clothing — plaid shorts and knee-high black socks — to distract you from his stomach. More importantly, he is turning his body in such a way that his right hand — evidently just casually gripping his handlebar — partially obscures his stomach. This is called the “Handlebar Obfuscation Gambit,” or “HOG” for short. Nice work, Dug.
- Adam is showing considerable ingenuity by using three separate gut-hiding tricks. First, he is performing the simplest of all possible gut-hiding techniques: “Back Of Photo,” or “BOF.” Next, Adam is succesfully executing the HOG, but has furthermore paid Dug $9.82 (an amount negotiated by both parties) to obscure his midsection with Dug’s left arm. This is called the “Proxy Handlebar Obfuscation Gambit,” or “PHOG.” Well played, Adam!
- Fatty is brazenly sucking in his gut, a fixed grin hiding the fact that he is seconds from passing out. You’re not fooling anybody, Fatty.
- Sam is using the BOF to such a great degree that it is impossible to tell how much he weighs. This is for the best, because Sam weighs 809 pounds.
- Brad and Rick Sunderlage (not his real name) are using the rather tedious ploy of not being fat for the photo. Turds.
Expert Techniques
Once you have mastered these simple being-photographed techniques, you’re ready for these advanced tips on how to be photographed, as demonstrated in the below photo:
- Always face front. If you turn sideways, you expose and emphasize your personal topography. And trust me: you do not want your topography exposed.
- Always wear bib shorts. Bib shorts help ameliorate the otherwise unfortunate transition from your waist to your upper body. A good pair of bib shorts can disguise an otherwise massive muffin top. And yes, Dug is wearing bib shorts under those plaid shorts. Dug’s no fool. Though he can play that role.
- Wear an appropriate jersey. I recommend the Fat Cyclist jersey, which, due to its dark sides, is very slimming. It is only when you look very carefully at Fatty here that you recognize he is much wider than the pink section of his jersey shown here.
- Be photographed in the dark. When you’re photographed in the dark, you can be confident that there is only one light source: the camera flash. You are therefore much less likely to be ambushed by shadows from unfriendly light sources (e.g., the sun), which generally have the effect of emphasizing your man-boobs and / or other unsightly bulges.
Things to Avoid
As with any acquired skill, being well-photographed in a bike jersey is as much about knowing what not to do as knowing what you should do. Don’t forget these “Don’ts,” or suffer the consequences.
- Don’t puff out your chest. When you suck in your gut, it needs to go somewhere, but a puffed-out chest is a sure sign of where you’ve temporarily relocated your stomach. This poor sap in the orange is doing it all wrong. His stomach is (somewhat) in, but his chest is stuck too far out. He should have rolled his shoulders forward, creating the illusion of a flat stomach and chest — the cyclist’s ideal.
- Never exhale until the photographer has put away the camera. After the flash has gone off and / or you’ve heard the shutter noise, you may be tempted to relax. Don’t do it. The photographer may seize upon the opportunity to take a candid photo. Remember: the only safe camera is a stowed camera.
- Do not allow yourself to be photographed while breathing hard. It’s difficult enough to keep your stomach in place when you’re relaxed. When your lungs are working at capacity, it’s practically impossible. If someone wants to take a picture right after you’ve gotten off the bike, say, “Just a sec,” and then find a reason to work on your bike, use the restroom, eat a snack, or whatever, until such time as you feel you can hold your breath again for up to 45 seconds.
- Never allow anyone to photograph you while you are on the bike. You’re hunched over, you’re breathing hard, and you’re otherwise not controlling the situation. Observe:
That’s just sad. Someone should tell that guy he needs to get back on his diet.
PS: The silver lining to this photo is, of course, is that I know that 74% of the racers in my class had to say to themselves, at some point, “Hey, I just got passed by a short, fat, middle-aged, bald guy riding a singlespeed and wearing a pink jersey.” And a lot of them had to say that to themselves during the climbs.
PPS: I didn’t intend it this way, but it occurs to me now that my braking finger of choice makes quite a statement in action shots like the above.
PPPS: Special note to Bike Snob NYC: I thought we had agreed you would not mention how many children I have. My revenge will be as thorough as it is calculated.
Comments (73)
05.30.2008 | 10:08 am
Two things made yesterday one of those really rare, perfect days.
Sixth Grade Graduation
First, a little boasting. Purely for context, mind you. My twelve-year-old son is in the gifted student program in his school, which is awesome on its own merits. The fact that he is also the top student in that gifted students program is icing on the cake.
And because he’s the top student in his class, he had to (didn’t want to — like Susan, he shuns the spotlight) give a speech at his sixth-grade graduation yesterday.
What he did with the speech, though, is what I really want to boast about. He surprised his mom by finishing with a tribute to her. It begins two minutes into the speech (He’s a soft-spoken boy, so you’ll have to turn up the volume on your computer):
A little more about this son. A week ago, when I found that he’s one of the top students in his school, I wanted to do something special for him. I mean, he had achieved this just because of who he is — I haven’t offered any kind of "Get an "A," get a prize" bribe to him. And yet, even with everything going on, he’s continued to be incredibly conscientious about school.
So I told him, "Back when I was a kid, my parents bribed me to get even reasonable grades. But you’ve gotten incredible grades just because it’s the right thing to do. I’d like to give you a reward. Think about something you want, and if it’s reasonable, I’m going to get it for you."
What I didn’t tell him was what "reasonable" meant. Although my "reasonable" went pretty darned high for this kind of accomplishment in the face of pretty lousy circumstances.
Every day for a week, I’ve been asking him, "Have you figured out what you want?" Every day, he’s said no.
Then, yesterday morning, he said, "Dad, stuff just isn’t all that important to me."
How could a dad not be proud of a son like this?
A Talk With the Doctor
OK, now the other good part of yesterday. Each Thursday, Susan meets with a radiation oncologist, where he asks her scary questions about her symptoms. Does she have crippling headaches? Does she have seizures? Is she losing her memory?
Susan’s answering "no" to each of these questions. Further, she isn’t experiencing the overwhelming fatigue most people get after brain radiation.
Susan’s doing, in short, exceptionally well.
So the Doctor said that after Susan’s last radiation treatment, there’s no reason for her to stop by for a checkup for six weeks or so.
Yeah, yesterday was a really good day.
Comments (103)
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