Fat Lad Rides Again

Gah! Didn’t really want to do two weigh in posts in a row but hey ho life gets in the way.

Double Gah! I put a pound on this week 🙁

The festivities surrounding the entirely arbitrary decimal nature of our societies and my third decade were entirely to blame. That and a lot of very cheap ale in a local drinking establishment…

So scores on the doors are:

Weight: 13 Stone 3 Pounds (182)

Waist: 37 inches

Loss this week: -1

Total loss: 4

I’m off to commiserate with a large bowl of dripping and a soup spoon…

Fat lad

This is a draft I’ve dug out that I never quite finished, I started typing this as soon as I got home of this particular Pootle Crew Adventure but by the end of the third paragraph the moment I was so urgently trying to commit to word had gone. It’s not here on the screen, it’s out there in the dirt and the dust. Stop reading and go find it…

It was a ride that had everything. But for me it was always be the ride of one. Riders ahead of me veterans and newbies alike ground their way up the long grass climb to eventual rest at their well earned summit. Behind me before the ascent Lynne was trying to overcome her fear of my recently conquered church steps with race whippet Jim offering support and encouragement.

Sat on the bike left hand on the wall I waited on the dirt bridge pass as the not too picturesque stream rolled beneath me. Still clipped in, pedals at 3 and 9 I rocked the cranks gently absorbing the unseasonal April warmth reaching me through the clorophyl green filtered sun shade.

Right there, right then I didn’t want to be anywhere else. I didn’t want to be faster, stronger, or slimmer. I didn’t want anything. I didn’t want to move lest I destroy this moment of cyclekarma. Emotions rising to the surface, endorphins or maybe something grerater, I pushed off and followed the trail ahead feet to climb and banter to absorb.

Fat Lad

Losing that precious hour of sunshine due to a no-show rider I summoned the will and wherewithal to still head out for the mind clearing soul cleansing home run. Available distance to be judged on the fly, limited by time and the capacity of lungs/legs.

I followed the well worn trails of my hometown, the ghosts of rides past mocking my current state of fitness. Reaching the bombhole that claimed skin from my knee and the remains of my two wheel masculinity barely a week before, I followed the steep run out and from the corner of my peripheral vision I spied something new. On such a well worn route the potential for new trail should never be overlooked. With glee and curiosity in equal measure I followed the clear path along the back of the houses. The possibility of ditching tarmac from any run is tantalising and I cranked away hope rolling beneath the wheels.

A quick circuit determined it was not to be, my suspicions confirmed short moments later by a dog walker happy to share alternatives that may have appealed. Pleasantries exchanged I pedalled away with no new dirt to follow but no feeling of wasted time.

A poorly decided existing path choice resulted in the early autumn nettles and brambles tearing at my naked shins. A brief stand off with a loose horse led to me snuffing the daylighter and easing out soothing words until the spooked mare could come back the few feet it required to return to the safety of wide open grassland.

By the ruins I stopped to inhale a gel, the sun had already departed my sky to be replaced by the burnt orange urban mid evening glow. Ahead of me the long lonely lactic climb home called. I smiled a tired grin, remounted and pedalled on.

Fat lad

“F*ck me sideways! I weigh how MUCH?!” was the alarmed call that rang out this morning in Casa de Muchacho Gordo. The alarmed call from our scales was “One at a time please porky!”

So as of now I’m going to try public humiliation/shame as a tool of motivation. The Victorians had their freak shows traveling from town to town and now in the modern digital age we only get to gawp at the less evolved amongst us via the high speed medium of the intarweb…

So every week until something like normality returns to my more than ample waistline I will post on a Wednesday morning my waist measurement (as determined by the quite lengthy circuitous route round my belly button) and the numbers as reported by my quite clearly untruthful scales. So the start up is:

Weight: 13 Stone 7 Pounds (That’s 187 for our transatlantic brethren)

and

Waist: 38 inches

The best I have been in recent years is:

Weight: 12 stone 9 pounds (177 pounds for those in the colonies)

So, feel free to berate, give advice or throw rotten virtual fruit at me. My weakness are:

• A sweet tooth
• Leggy Brunettes
• Using So too much to open sentences
• and a quite frankly disgusting lack of willpower.

I eagerly await your correspondence.

Fat Lad

Don’t worry this little piece of MTB heaven will not become a blow by blow account of my new vocation. No that will be for Twitter once it stops eating my SMS…

So a great first week, despite just one day of disaster. I have remembered two things about bike shops since starting:

1. You really really need to be able to drink an unending amount of tea. I think I might have actually have tea in my bronchiolli now. In fact I’m inventing a new disease; Tea Lung.
2. Bike shops are hyper-strength magnets for all types of crazie. We are mecca for all types of numpty. From the know it all name dropper “Brant asked me to test a frame but I had to turn him down because I’m so hardcore there isn’t a material built for my mad skillz…” to the constant decider “Hmm, I would buy this one if the wheels only had purple anodised nipples”

My disaster day involved rounding off a bolt that really needed to come out involving a scary use of drill and hardened bit. Not realising a wheel had a 7speed cassette and I’d put it on a 8speed body sans spacer and another few hours of minor feck ups. Thankfully the rest of the week has been exactly what I hoped and expected it to be…

Fat Lad