Slightly Faster Cyclist...

Still working on the looking good naked part.
With the holiday weather being what it was(cold and lousy) We got all our BBQing out of the way earlier in the weekend.  Leaving Monday open for some quality "me" time. Last night as I weighed my options, I decided to race in the Stan Crane Memorial XC Race.
The dozen or so Bratwurst I ate over the past two days was not helping at all in the diet department either.
Truth be told, I have never really been much of a mountain bike racer.  I have entered some races, I have organized a couple, but when it comes down to it, I've never been much of a racer.  In fact, this was to be the very first  ICUP race I had ever entered, despite people trying to talk me into it for years.  My logic has been that if I couldn't win, I didn't want to race.  Cyclocross has managed to drag the pride out of me, and the upcoming Crusher has created a need for high intensity riding that lasts longer than an hour.  The only people I thought I could drag along were Moody and Cobourn.  Since Cobourn is in Texas with the other arrogant bastards, and Moody was bowing out due to weather.  I went into this alone and frightened.
The weather was calling for snow above 5500 ft and rain all morning.  The trails in Corner Canyon can be delicate, as are the feelings of the locals who ride them.  The race was in doubt until 6 am this morning.  Once the word went out on Twitter that the race would go on, I threw my gear in a bag and headed for Draper.
The race had the exact feel of a really good Cyclocross race.  Cold and nasty.  I thought I was all set.  I brought a long sleeve jersey and some embrocation(for the non-cyclists this is like Ben-Gay you rub on your legs before a race so you can pretend it's not cold).  At least I thought I grabbed some embrocation.  What I grabbed in my haste was a tube of chamois cream which is applied to your crotchal region to prevent chafing on long rides.  Cold weather plan #1 fail.  Oh well, I threw on my long sleeve and headed out for a little warm up lap.  I was wearing a hoodie as well on the warm-up and when I came back I pulled it off to discover that my zipper had broken on the long sleeve.  Cold weather plan #2 fail.
With the wind blowing and intermittent rain drops I was one of only a few who rolled up to the start with bare arms and legs.  Later in the race, I noticed sweaty,soggy people who looked a lot less comfortable than I was. Cold weather pure dumb luck-win.
As I and the other Sport 35-39 racers rolled up to the start I felt a little out-gunned in the bike department.  I assumed this meant I was going to get a good shallaking.  But when the start was signaled I found myself duking it out for the hole-shot.  I sat up heading onto the single track because I thought I should save something for the rest of the race.  Through the lower section I stuck to the other guys wheel and by the time we went under the bridge we had a decent gap on the the rest of our category.  Other than one guy that passed us both on the switchback section.  I was feeling okay, not strong, but okay.  I tried not to get too excited that I might podium if I could hang on.  I held holeshot-guys wheel for the whole first lap, and pulled ahead of him just before the end of the first lap.  heading into the second lap I looked back and he was fading.  Yay for me.  Soon I was alone.  I couldn't see anybody in front of me, and I couldn't see anybody behind me.  Good racers take this opportunity to hammer and try to gap those who might be behind them.  I tend to sit up.  My legs were starting to fade, and of the racers I saw occasionally most of them were not in my category.  On the last big climb, I heard someone call out to pass.  I let him by and recognized that he was another guy from my category.  No excuses, I didn't have the legs to catch him.  I was still thinking I was in third place, and fighting cramps over the last mile or so, I crossed the line.
When the results started to go up on the board, I saw that I had indeed finished in third.
I called Kellie to brag, I told at least a dozen people, I asked Jake Weber to take my picture on the podium, then I walked over to the awards presentation and checked the board again.  Another name had been tacked onto the top of my category which bumped me off the podium and into fourth.  In itself, still a decent result, but the apparent shame of fourth position is reinforced by the pink ribbon you receive, and the "Tweety" chair that you sit in next to the podium for photos.  A child sized camp chair with a big picture of Tweety Bird.

How is it that fourth is more shameful than the dude that took fifth?  And why are either one of us called up for the podium?
Final Thoughts:
I did better than I thought I would.  I ran full tilt for two hours and twenty miles.  Maintaining a 170+ heart rate for most of that time.  The course was very much like Cyclocross.  No real rest and required a lot of body english to get through the mud and the muck.
Maybe the Crusher will be a little mellower.  Please God, let the Crusher be a little mellower.  If I can just settle into a groove, I think I will survive.

Crusher Dreams Part 2

The past week has been challenging.  I had been cruising along, not losing weight but not gaining any either.  Settled back into some questionable diet routines, but I was riding more to compensate.  For some reason Jeff and I decided to ride Thursday morning(36degrees), and lift Friday morning(50degrees). Thursday night I was able to sneak in a ride up the south side of Suncrest after work.  I felt pretty good about it.  I had researched the "official" time trial, and was going to see how I stacked up.  Luckily, it was the warmest ride of the season so far.  No cold weather gear required.  So nice.  From the powerlines to the last hydrant I had 18:46.  Here's the proof.  About a third of the way up, some punk kid rolled up next to me and was feeling chatty.  I'm not sure if I could have been faster if I wasn't talking, or if I was faster because I didn't want to get dropped by this kid who didn't even shave yet.  Didn't matter, he dropped me on the very last climb to the top.  Then told me how his goal was to make it under thirty minutes.  Just made it buddy. Grumble,grumble...
Since then it has been cold, rainy,snowy, and dismal.  Took the shop ride down to Price on Saturday for Trailfest, but spent more time BSing then riding.  Drove three hours round trip to ride for just under three hours and only cover 14 miles.  It was nice and sunny though.  So far this week has been terrible.
Not only has the weather sucked, but the gym has been closed for "Bubble Week".  This is the week they take the bubble off the pool so they close the whole thing down.  Each morning I have awakened to the sound of sheets of rain pounding on the roof so I rolled over and slept instead of doing any riding.  Yes I own a trainer, and yes I refuse to ride it in May.
This morning, I woke up again startled from the dream I had been having.  You'll remember that the last Crusher related dream I had featured Lance Armstrong telling me to ride more(and dress better).  This time I was actually at what my brain pictured as the Crusher. A few changes. For some reason it was being held in American Fork Canyon, and had become a duathlon.  I left my bike on the side of the road and began running up the Canyon.  Amazingly, I was in second place.  Cruising along.  Then somebody came up and said something about their bike being staged at the Pine Hollow Trailhead for the second stage.  I panicked because my bike was at the bottom. Then Burke Swindlehurst(the race director for the Crusher), whom I have never met outside of facebook was running next to me and I told him my bike didn't get staged.  He turned around and "paused" the race.  Amongst much grumbling, and moaning.  We lined up again, while a vehicle went back for my bike.  Once the vehicle passed us again, we resumed the run.  Which was no longer on the road, but inside my mind's version of Brer Rabbit's Briar Patch.  Breaking through branches, ducking under logs,(kind of like the trails in Price).  When I finally made it out the other side I was in an unfamiliar residential neighborhood and had dropped to DFL in the race.  Strangely, my bike was not the only one left in the staging area. Instead there was a humongous road bike with balloon tires.  Struggling to reach the pedals, I set out for the bike leg.  The remainder of the dream was me riding by myself, waiting for the broom wagon to pick me up.  I never saw the back of the pack, and the broom wagon never picked me up.  I just rode on, alone.
I may be letting this race get under my skin.
Morning Weigh-In:

• 178.6
• 21.0%
• Total Weight Loss:21.2

Road Trip, etc.

Despite my best efforts to re-motivate, it hasn't happened.  I continue to be in a "rest stage" for my diet.  While I have been riding a little more, I have pretty much abandoned the two a day routine.  I assure you this is for no good reason.  Pure, unadulterated laziness.
While I still try to make reasonable food choices, I also go on glorious binges.  Case in point, last weekend's road trip.
Last week Cobourn invited me to accompany he and Moody to his parents vacation home in Montrose CO.  He said it was about an hour outside Fruita, and coincidentally it was the same weekend as the Fruita Fat Tire Festival.
The plan was to hit a grocery store and eat at the house for the most part.  Seems like a reasonable choice for somebody who is on a diet right?  With this in mind, I didn't think anything about stopping at Grogg's in Carbonville for a nice, big, greasy burger.  We were going to be riding all weekend so certainly one little discretion wouldn't matter much.  We arrived pretty late in the evening in Montrose.  Shot the shit for a little while and headed off to bed.  We'd head to the trails and festival in the morning and grab groceries on the way back.
On our way into town, we decided to find a diner for breakfast.  Stopped in Delta, Colorado and I made my selection. 3 slices of French Toast, Bacon, Eggs, Toast.  Notice how I wisely avoided the starchy hashbrowns?  I'm a rock.
The weather quickly dampened the riding and after just about five miles or so, we decided to bag it and head into town for the festival.  Stopping at Smashburger in Grand Junction for lunch.  With the guilt still stinging from the burger the night before, I got a Chicago Dog.  And a strawberry milkshake.
The weather seemed to have affected attendance at the festival as well, so after only a short time we headed to the grocery store for supplies to last the weekend.  It wasn't my fault that Bratwurst and Chorizo were on sale.  Although I am the one that pointed it out.  And soon I was cooking my semi-famous "Team Clammy Chamois" post-race Brats.  I only had two.  And four Cadbury egg's for dessert.  They were on sale too.  Moody also contributed with his bacon-wrapped asparagus.  And Cobourn sure knows how to toss a salad.(Hurr-hurr-hurrrr)
Saturday morning brought Chorizo breakfast tacos.  Half and Half makes for extra fluffy eggs in case you were wondering.  Once we made it to the trails Moody would find out that Chorizo is not the fuel of champions. Or at least that it's not pleasant to exert yourself while burping Chorizo.  I, on the other hand am conditioned to run on garbage and had no such discomfort. I'm like the Delorian in Back To The Future.  I can synthesize energy out of common, ordinary garbage.  Of course I had three, Moody only had two.  That's probably what the problem was.  After an excellent day on the trails we made our way back to the house and cooked the pre-stuffed chicken breasts we had picked up. There wasn't a lot to them, other than enough cheese to melt out and completely cover the entire baking sheet they were cooked on.  There were only three of us, so somebody had to eat the fourth one.  You can't waste food.
Sunday we finished off the eggs and tortilla's, packed up, drove to the Kokopelli trails, rode seven miles and bee-lined it to Ray's Tavern in Green River for Ray's famous 1/2 pound bacon cheeseburger.
In hind-sight, I'm not sure all those meals were exactly "Tub o' Guts" approved.
Allright I blew it.  But the good thing is, that even though I ate like it was my last weekend on earth.  I came home and am still holding steady in the mid 170's.  To top that off, I rode up the south side of Suncrest today in 20:25, stop-sign to stop-sign.  Frankly I've never put a clock to it before.  But it felt faster than I usually do it.  With roughly 20 miles and 1600 ft of climbing...aah it's not enough to get ready for the Crusher, but it's something.
Morning Weigh-In:

• 176.4
• 19.2%
• Total Weight Loss:23.4

Dreams

Today is the day I officially stop counting days.  From here on out, when asked how long I have been doing this, I will say "A few months."  This is mostly because I no longer have the integrity to report each days events. Which is mostly because the last few days have seen me tuck and roll as I leapt  off the wagon of my diet.  Basically, I just didn't get back to it when the weekend was over.
My family had a bit of a medical emergency over the weekend. It kept my mind on things other than my "training regimen", so it was easy to justify eating garbage until things got sorted out.  I haven't suffered any serious setbacks.  I'm a couple pounds over my lowest weight from last week, but nothing serious.  I have also been hit and miss with my workouts so all things considered I'm doing okay.
As always I face tomorrow with a new resolve.  I have to, the Crusher is coming.
Ah, The Crusher.  It has consumed my thoughts since Monday when I registered.  I misjudged the popularity of the race.  I fully expected it to sell out the first day.  It didn't.  But it was fun to act like I was battling for a spot.  As I commented to Cobourn while we were waiting for registration to open, "...if there are only like twelve dudes that sign up tonight, we're totally gay."  As it stands just under 100 brave souls have signed up. Not quite making us gay, but certainly bringing our heterosexuality into question.
To be clear, I do not fear being able to complete the race.  And I'm not terribly concerned about not making the time cutoffs. Nor am I overly concerned about winning.  Competitiveness has never been my most outstanding feature. But I do want to have an above average showing.  Top half of the pack I should hope.  And in my estimation I've got a way to go to achieve that.

Joel 2:28
And it shall come to pass afterward, that I will pour out my spirit upon all flesh; and your sons and your daughters shall prophesy, your old men shall dream dreams, your young men shall see visions:


Now that I am about to complete my 35th year.  I'm not sure that I qualify as either an old man, or a young man.  So perhaps the dream I had last night is neither a dream nor a vision.
Anyway, I will try my best to explain it as I understood it.
I was riding with some sort of club.  On the road. The ride eventually became several of us in a room talking, and then became just me and the leader of the group talking over a desk, as you would at a job interview.  He was telling me that if I was going to be a serious racer, I would have to quit my day job. (Not a terrible prospect though I was concerned at how I was going to make this transition and not lose my house.) He kept telling me that I would have to ride more than I had been. I kept saying "Yeah, that's fine, I can do that"  But was genuinely concerned about how to pay the bills while I was becoming a serious racer.
Then it got weird. The leader of the group became Lance Armstrong.  And we were no longer in an office, but a limo.  This for some reason seemed perfectly logical.  So now, Armstrong and I were chatting about bikes, and about racing, though we were no longer talking about me racing.  I was no longer in a job interview, but discussing becoming part of Armstrong's entourage.  He was telling me that he had "like two dozen dudes in his posse."  I remember thinking what a douche he was for calling it his posse.  The limo pulls up to a grand hotel.  And we start trying on suits in the lobby.  All the while, he's explaining to me that we all have to look good when we're around him.  He speaks as though I have been accepted into "the posse", but it's sort of on a trial basis. I also determine that being in "The Posse" means that I no longer have to work.  Armstrong keeps saying things like "We'll get your clothes fixed up, and then you just have to ride more." and "The only thing you have to do to stay here is to ride more."  I never meet any other members of "The Posse".  I begin to suspect that I am really the only member of  "The Posse" due to Armstrong being kind of a douche.  I ask him if he would like to go for a ride with me now.  He says "I don't ever ride with you guys, but you should definitely go for a ride, you need to ride more."
Then my alarm goes off.  Besides the obvious similarities to my friendship with Cobourn, what do you think this all means?
Morning Weigh In:

• 177.6
• 21.7%
• Total Weight Loss:22.2

Day 64 and 65

I'm such a tease.  I didn't post my "adjusted" 60 day photo yesterday like I said I would.  I can explain why, you see, I overslept a little and was about ten minutes late to spin class yesterday.  Spring Break in Utah County is still wreaking havoc on attendance, so with Jeff and his lovely wife and two menopausal women we sweat out the hour, or I should say slightly less than an hour with the instructor Moneka.  As I have said before, I have tried other spin classes, and I prefer Moneka's.  It is mainly because she picks the best music.  If I never hear that stupid "Aaaaaay Oh" song again it will be too soon.  Moneka seems to be a reformed f-chick as we used to call them back in the day.  Other commonly used terms would be metal-chick, stoner, butt-rocker, etc.  Thursday however she outdid herself.  The "Cycle Jam" included The Devil Went Down To Georgia, Immigrant Song, and Keep 'Em Separated.  Bar none the best spin class music I have ever experienced.  The high points were good enough to forgive her little forays into Journey and Godsmack.  I'd even say they were good enough to forgive her for the horrendous spelling of her name.
In any event, a good class. Went to work, and hustled home to catch Stan and the Utah Velo Club's first Vineyard Crit of the season.  I've ridden with Stan and Velo Club Vice Principal, Drew Decker a lot in the past.  But I've never done this "race".  We started at the shop, then rode out to the lake shore and into Vineyard where we hung a right and tiptoed our bikes past the jersey barriers that block the road into a subdivision that never happened.  They got as far as the utility improvements, curb and gutter, but then either the warmongering Republicans' wasteful spending, or the socialist elite Democrats' wasteful spending destroyed the economy and no homes were ever built.  What is left is perfectly smooth asphalt, laid out in blocks, with roundabouts on the corners.  And thanks to the barriers, no cars to worry about.  Hell yes.
We took a neutral lap to make sure everyone was familiar with the course.  Then did a 20 minutes+ 3 laps crit. Having never done a crit before I wasn't really up on the technique.  Essentially it's Cyclocross without barriers or dirt.  Local cycling could'a-been Matt Bright was there barking out pointers that usually ended up with me pulling into the belligerent wind out of the north.  I stayed at the front, trading pulls with Matt and a guy named Seth for eleven laps.  Then on the final lap, Seth, Matt, and 70 year old Stan Swallow sucked my doors off in the last half block to the finish.  Lessons learned in my first crit.  Don't ever pull.
Due to pretty strict adherence to my diet that day, I had not eaten since lunch, and was in a pretty serious calorie deficit.  The race, the rest of the ride, and the spin class I rocked in the morning had taken their toll.  On the ride back home which was almost entirely into the wind, I started to fade fast.  Made it home, and inhaled a bunch of pasta, white bread, shrimp, M&M's, a protein shake, some crackers, some cookies, and another fistful of M&M's.  The bonk took over, it couldn't be helped.  After that binge, I sat down on the couch and was unconscious by 8:45 pm.  I just didn't have the energy to take tasteful topless images of myself last night.
But, I managed to get them today.

First the "before" image from February 13:

Note the sad face and prominence of "Hairy Belly-fonte".
Now the "during" image from today:

Through the magic of television, I have lost almost 25 pounds.  Through the magic of my Wahl home hair cutting trimmers, I have lost some belly-fur.
There is something about taking camera phone pictures of yourself in a bathroom that makes you feel like you should be on some sex-offender registry. But I think it would be even more humiliating to say "Honey, could you take some pictures of me with my shirt off?"
So the question will be "Are you sucking it in?"  The answer will be yes. But in the interest of truth in journalism here is what remains:

It has been a long time since I was worrying about pinching an inch.  Since the late 90's I've been grabbing a slab.  It's still there, but my umbilical hernia scar is starting to be above my bellybutton again instead of inside it. Baby steps.
I made it to the gym this morning, but keeping with tradition started the weekend binge a little early with a Friday morning breakfast burrito.  I am ashamed to admit, that after the first one, I was so hungry still that I pulled into another breakfast burrito hotspot and got another one.  The two of them managed to tide me over until evening, but since my family dragged me to the worst movie I have ever seen, I didn't get an evening workout in.  Then we followed up the popcorn with a trip to Coney's and a Sonoran Dog. Don't you judge me.  It's the weekend.  And that sucker was delicious.
Planning to get in a big ride tomorrow, of course then I have to attend a Brother-In-Law's surprise birthday party at Up-Chuck-A-Rama.  Yeah, we're classy like that.
Morning Weigh In:

• 175.6(no change)
• 21.2%
• Total Weight Loss:24,2

Day 63

I'm learning fun little things about my body every day.
Today I learned that when I am tired, other parts of my body compensate for weak or straining muscles.  Such was the case when I was pushing for the elusive "just one more" shoulder press, eyes bulging out of my head, shaking arms, and then my back did something I didn't enjoy.  Not sure what exactly, but when I stood up, my head was no longer able to pivot independently from the rest of my body.  Laid down and tried to stretch or twist or somehow put something back where it should be, but the run home from the gym, and the remaining work day were endured, not relished like usual.  A few thousand milligrams of Ibuprofen later and I'm more or less back to normal.  And I've learned that less is less, and more usually isn't worth it.
I was feeling well enough for a quick ride after work.  Jeff and I took the fixies up to Alpine for some slow burn. Here's a tip, even if you only have one gear, and no freewheel, keep your chain clean.  It's amazing how much better the Langster rolls with a blinging chain. It was sort of a blustery Pooh-bear day, but we beat the real wind home by a few minutes. Well I did.  Jeff stuck with me all the way back to my house, and then had to fight the headwind for two miles back to his house.  I got a text saying he had been brought to a complete stop by the wind twice before he got home.
MATURE CONTENT WARNING: Tomorrow I will be posting a "during" photo of me with my shirt off.  There will be hairy nipples.  You have been warned.
Morning Weigh-In:

• 176.4
• 21.4%
• Total Weight Loss:23.4

Day 62

Hey look at me! Two days in a row.
It's getting sad at spin class.  No exaggeration, there were four dudes there for the 5:30 class this morning.  No women.  Not even our dear friend Spazzy MacGoo.  She is a woman who is entirely too enthusiastic.  She's not really loud, but she has hair that's long enough to need to be tied back, but for some reason she refuses to.  She bobs and weaves like Muhammed Ali post-parkinsons.  Her hair dangles in front of her face like a sheepdog and she bounces  along to the music like the front row at a Quiet Riot concert.
Whoops, I got sidetracked.  Anyway, like I said.  Four chubby dudes in a class with thirty bikes.  Might have something to do with the fact the 60% of the bikes are broken in some manner or another.  Nice to see our membership is going to pay for the half dozen adolescent girls minding the front desk in the evening.
Speaking of the evening, my new favorite thing to do is run to the gym, lift, then run home.  It's only about a mile or so from my house.  That way, before any of my tendons or joints completely betrays me, I'm there, and all warmed up to lift.  The downside is I sweat like queer eating a hot dog when I start lifting.  I spent nearly as much time wiping down equipment tonight as I did lifting. Which is not to say I didn't get anything done.  A solid hour of elevated heart rate and pushing until failure.  I'll be sore in the morning which will suck, since I'm supposed to  meet Jeff to lift at 6am.
Feeling totally back in the swing though.  Sticking to the diet, packing lousy tasteless lunches, which is making me much more productive at work because there's no reason to linger over bland chicken and an apple.  Maybe I'll get a raise.
Killed it at the weigh-in this morning.  New low*.
Morning Weigh-In:

• 177.2*
• 23.5%(?)
• Total Weight Loss:22.6