The training part of my CACTASS endeavor has at least fared slightly better than the diet part. In the last 5 weeks, I’ve logged 1,016 Garmin-certified miles across hill and dale here out in the boondocks. I mean, the bucolic countryside around Huntley, IL. Since I’ve been traveling the same roads ad nauseum, so as to not waste time driving elsewhere to ride, I now know every farmer, every chicken, every dog (fenced and non-fenced), every bump in the road, every place where the wind shifts, every water stop.
I know everything there is to know about the growth cycle of corn. I know the bartender at the Prairie Pub (hours 11AM – 2AM), who’s always nice enough to put ice in my water bottles before I fill them with bottled water. Kelly at Sharon’s Sweet Shop and I are pals, and I promised her a bushel of tomatoes when I get back from my trip. I’ve come to discover that the roads around Delavan, WI get suckier every year, even when they pave them and for some reason wind up with all these seams in the road. People in cars have stopped to ask me for directions. When I see my mom’s neighbors here in Sun City, the first thing they ask me is “How many miles today?” My mom, who’ll be happy to see the tail end of me and The Kone, as I don’t think she likes how we’ve disrupted her orderly existence.
The question, of course, is this – even after all the riding, am I ready to make it up the Alps, or even AN Alp? I have no idea, though I’m starting to think it’s doubtful. But I’ve done what I could in the time I had – and for those wondering why I didn’t start training sooner, well, those pesky surgeries got in the way. At least the Boobages will look good though as I’m gasping for air on the side of a mountain, having simply fallen over on my bike, still clipped in.
And I’m determined to have a good time, whatever may be. I’m still pissed off about the weight thing – since I haven’t had a burger, a bonbonbonbon, or anything else remotely tasty in months now –to no avail. I’m still fat, and will have to try to haul my fat little self up a mountain, which is hard enough when you’re thin. Fuck you FatSurly!
I actually got The Look yesterday from my brother – who’s seen how little I eat - when I idly mentioned that my ride that day had been 80+ miles to Wisconsin and back. He literally stopped in his tracks, looked me up and down, and said “What?? 80 miles? But….how…..”
Me: “Yeah, I know. I’ve been riding those distances for a while now, and you can see all the good it’s done me.”
Andrew: “But…..wow. Imagine what you’d look like if you weren’t doing all that cycling! If I rode that much, I’d look like an Ethiopian refugee!”
Of course, true to form, I’m still ramping up, so I’m off now for another long-ish bike ride in the 99% humidity, now that the rain has stopped. I have a whole week left, and I’m sure I can ratchet up my fitness level another couple of notches in that time. Right? Maybe? Bueller?