Long time ago I last posted. Seems like only yesterday. OK, trite, it does seem like a long time ago. And time is the subject herein.
With age comes reason. A reason for worry, and a reason to either get off yer duff and do something about whatever it is you should do something about, or accept that the 'whatever' is evermore. Whew! You see, I'm seventy now, thus am taken for either a wise aged sage, or a retro-grouch; depends on the listener.
For 25 years my dream/goal/nemesis has been to lose a lot of weight, and get down to 175 pounds. I mean a LOT of weight – as I hit 24X pounds one fine and heavy day years past (the 'X' is left for the reader's imagination). Seeing the second guy hugging me when I looked into the mirror got my attention. I was ticketed on the freeway for hauling an illegal butt. That thing slapping the back of my knees when I walked to the shower was...
Then a good thing happened; Eight years ago I was laid off at work one fine birthday, and set out the door with my severance package and my at-work bike clothes (I had started riding to work a couple times a week just a month before). And I started riding. A lot, for me that is.
The weight started coming off. I started training for the Tour Divide race, and more weight evaporated. Final tally was forty pounds in seven months. And it was great! Except, I gained some back after the race. Drat, back up to 210, then another TD training session and down to 190, then back up, and another year training and down to 194, and up to 213. Roller-coaster.
Here I sit at 180.6 pounds (yes, tenths matter!). Finally, I'm committed to shrinking and keeping my weight at or below 175. Yah, yah, I know, another guy blurbing about weight that nobody else cares about.
But the lamppost does! Lemme 'splain. You see there's this post on my riding route with a crosswalk light button, that is designed for sight impaired people. When pushed, the post says, “Wait!”, or as I imagine, sometimes, “Weight!”. We have conversations.
“Hey post, what am I trying to lose?” “Weight!”.
“Can I lose it all at once or do I have to...”. “WAIT!”.
“See anything different about me, and it's not my hair doo?”. “Weight” .
And then it comes to an end, and I must leave, “The walk sign is on!”
Some people waiting for the light stare at me. Some pretend they're scrutinizing important screens on their cell phones. I just grin and keep talking. At seventy I am allowed to do that, because they never know for sure if it's pudding Tuesday for me at the 'home' tonight, or if I really am having a talk with someone. Yesterday a lady was distancing 6 feet from me while waiting. Then the post and I spoke, and magically she was twelve feet away. Considerate of her, I say.
What's been the result of dropping those nasty pounds? For starters it has been almost fun. Keeping control of my eating, learning how much I need versus what my mouth wants, and seeing that goal get closer has been exciting. Plus I finally am keeping my promise to myself, and that means a lot personally. Overcoming weakness, or taking on a challenge, or, well, you find a phrase that fits. In YodaSpeak: Good feeling, it is.
Six years ago I set a goal to ride 100 miles per week, and have kept up with the effort as best I could. For that period, my weekly overall average is 96 miles, with the lowest year 79 miles, and highest 120. Most of this is on mountain bikes, riding on the road, plus the races I do. Thirty thousand miles all told in those years.
I also am setting new 'records' on my standard riding routes. My detailed riding records allow me to compare both distance and pace per mile. Lately, I've been besting the pace records, and am in fact in the best riding shape (not counting those training TD months) since, well, ever. Bonks used to come on suddenly, with weakness and a hollow, shaky feeling. Bonks now are gradual, with only a progressive loss of power.
Speaking of road bikes, did you know that roadies won't wave back if you're on a mountain bike? Except! One of my mountain bikes has aero bars, and it sets off a mental confusion-short circuit in the roadies' brain cells that eventually causes a minor panic, and they wave back. Mostly.
Back to my story.
I'm really trying not to say, “I don't feel seventy”, because a) that is what all old people say, so cliché, and b) that presupposes I've been seventy once before and know how it feels. So far, no decline (in fact an increase) in riding performance, and I sleep less than before the weight loss. Recovery seems the same, and I climb hills faster. Oh, and my butt doesn't hurt as much.
I look smaller and...older in the mirror. Jolly Saint Nick now looks like Grinch after a bad sleep. All that extra skin sags a bit, although I hear in time it will tighten up. On the other hand, I now wear a pants size smaller than my son – woohoo!
Might not try out for the Olympics, as I hear it takes a lot of time out of a schedule, but I am looking forward to the next bikepacking trip. Being stuck in Covid-VIlle currently, so far only planning and possibilities are in the mix, but even that can be fun.
“So lamppost, any chance I can bikepack soon?” “WAIT!”
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