Doping dreams

 

While many of my nineteens of readers have found their way to my little Blog That’s Sweeping the Nation because of the trials and tribulations I bravely face with cancer, bike crashes, IVF, etc., the fact is that this blog has its roots in my esteemed racing career, focusing on cycling and triathlon. I have advised legions of people as to the ways of using As Seen on TV devices to kickstart their own athletic journeys and achieve similar greatness, as I was reminded of recently when I alerted the world to my impending foray into doping.

Alert Reader Colleen pointed this out – “But Tasha, what will this mean for your racing career?”

Indeed! Of course, as soon as I was made aware of the potential ramifications of using HGH and my future ability to dominate the age-grouper scene in Oregon and beyond, I did what any sane, sensible person would do under similar circumstances.

I started googling the shit out of rides/races I could sign up for, to take advantage of the situation.

What, you didn’t think I’d be letting thousands of dollars of HGH go to waste, did you? That’s life, folks – if people want to compete at my level, well, they too can spend shitloads of cash on IVF meds. Oh sure I know what you’re all thinking. “But Miss Tasha, you’re already such a finely honed competitive athlete. Is it really fair to give yourself even more of an advantage other than what you have with your natural abilities and extreme training regimen?”

To which I reply that anyone else willing to spend tens of thousands of dollars to shoot themselves up several times a day is perfectly free to join me. It’s not like I have a monopoly on boxes of Saizen at Strohecker’s Pharmacy. Oh wait, except that I do. More about that later.

Anyway. First on my list became the Oregon Gran Fondo, a rollicking ride of 117 miles over ridiculous hills and mountains, all of it chip-timed. Because I don’t do anything half-way, I looked up what it would take to win my age group. And excuse me here while I rant about women of AMA as we call them (Advanced Maternal Age, i.e. 40+) who can’t leave well enough alone. Seriously people! I quickly discover that in this particular age group, the top woman is FASTER than anyone in any of the other female age groups, and in many of the men’s! Wtf!

Being the mathy person I am, I calculate that I would need to average 22.6 mph over those 117 miles to win my age group.

Ech, piece of cake.

Then I look up the King/Queen of the Mountain segment, whereby each person is timed over a 4 mile segment that climbs 1K feet. Again, using my (ahem) Wharton education, I do some back of the envelope calculations and figure out that the grade is about 6.8%, and I’d have to average 16.4 mph to win.

Yawn. In my sleep, folks, in my sleep.

I mean, that would be in my normal state. Add the doping element, and all bets are off.

So I go in to see the Most Excellent Dr. Barbieri, to tell her about this excitement.

Me: So, my triathlon friends are really jealous about the fact that I’ll be doping.

Dr. B.: Oh, you do triathlons?

Me: Well yes. Blah blah two Ironmans….blah blah…greatness……blah blah age group glory…blah blah.

Dr. B: I’ve done a couple triathlons, and one half and that was it as far as distance.

Me: Oh sure, the half distance is great….blah blah…my greatness….blah blah…….Steelhead glory….blahblah.

Dr. B: Have you thought about doing cyclocross?

Me: I’ve thought about it…..blahblah……future greatness….blahblah…….cyclocross glory…blahblah.

 

I can tell that Dr. B. Is getting a bit overwhelmed by being in the presence of an athlete such as myself, so I bring up another topic important to the situation.

Me: So Dr. B., I just wanted to note that we need to get 15 eggs this time. Studies have shown that that’s optimal, between quantity and quality.

Dr. B.: What? But we got 9 last time and did great!

Me: Yes, but that was then! Studies have shown 15 is better!

Claire the nurse tech assistant person giggles. I take that as a clear testament to the truth of the matter.

Me: Amirite? It’s not like I make this shit up – I’m just the messenger.

Dr. B: But…

Me, firmly: 15.

Dr. B: Sigh. It’s a good thing Dr. Hesla does the surgeries on weekends.

Me: Oh, Dr. Hesla. Hmm. Last time I told him 13 eggs, and he failed to achieve that. But I guess I can give him another chance.

I can tell by the way Dr. B. always leaves the room so quickly that the veracity and brilliance of our conversations is almost too much to handle. Think about it – every conversation afterward would just pale so much in comparison that it’s better to leave my presence immediately so that the little people at least have a chance.

It’s truly a gift.

* * * * *

Oh, and about my doping career? It turns out that there are in fact stupid age-groupers out there using this shit for actual doping. Because my pharmacy isn’t carrying the stuff anymore. Say what? I immediately call Haley, my most excellent coordinator person at ORM, to take care of the situation, and as always, she leaps into action.

I get a call from her 20 minutes later.

Haley: Okay, so they have some new FDA regulations coming out – because of people using this for doping! But I managed to get them to put aside for you the last of what they have. (“Pony up, assholes, this is our star client we’re talking about here.”*)

Me: Doping! Who the heck would even THINK of using it for that??

Haley: Ugh, I don’t know. But for now at least you’re set.

I pick up my 2 dusty boxes of Saizen at Strohecker’s, at well over $1K for 2 small vials. Any cyclists out there actually using this stuff for nefarious purposes, please contact me, because you obviously have a hell of a lot more money than I do. Momma needs a Sugar Daddy, oh yes I do.

*Relevant subtext added