Buy the ticket, take the ride. - Young's Dairy

“Buy the ticket, take the ride.” - Dr. Hunter S. Thompson

We're headed west, driving through another in a series of monsoons and I'm praying that there will be sunshine and rainbows on the other side. Checkin starts at 9am and we're gonna miss that. It's raining so hard that the car is occasionally hydroplaning forcing me to dial back on the speed, flashers on, going 45 ignoring this rather clear message from God that I should turn back.

This is my first bike 'event' and I'm apprehensive about it. However, there's no turning back, riding in these events, particularly impulsively isn't cheap.

Registration: $25
Donation to local charities: $125
Super cool first bicycle jersey with cow on it: $55
Super cool bright green bicycle socks with cow on them: $6
Total for five plus hours of pain: $211

There's no turning back but in this rain I'm reasonably certain even the crazies would wait before heading out. When we get there it's pretty clear and nice. No rain.

My family is with me (how cool is that? - I mean really - I have an awesome family!) and we're figuring if I can hold an 18mph over sixty miles we can end this bad boy in around three hours and be home in time to let the dog out. I'm thinking 18mph might be a tad unrealistic but it's a number to shoot for. I'm bummed because I forgot my HR strap and I tend to use my beats per minute as an indicator of how hard I worked. Nothing to be done about that now. I collect my bling, suit up and head out. I'm carrying two water bottles, one full of frozen G2.

Fashionable in my cool jersey and socks, ready to ride!

I head out following a bunch of riders ahead of me. The route map gave me the impression that I get on this one road and head north for twenty eight miles before turning back at a rest area after getting some food and beverages. This was a lie, one of many.

There are all sorts of turns and what not and it takes me awhile to figure out that I'm suppose to look for these upside down, dayglo orange "Y"s in the road and go the direction they're pointing.

Soon I'm alone, occasionally spotting some rider ahead of me. The roads are great for biking all in all, very low traffic and at this time of morning (10:30) not too bad with the heat/humidity. My number is 404 prompting my son to say, "404 error, the biker can not be found." and the back of my collar reads, "What Hills?" when I hit the first one around mile seven.

It's not horribly long but oh-my-gosh is it steep, hitting gradients of 9 -10%. I immediately learn that I can not stand up on the bike and keep my balance, the stupid thing goes all wobbly. I'm gonna have to pull these hills sitting down. I'll also never forget the utter sinking feeling I got when I crested one hill and saw a sea of rollers coming at me like waves.

"Buy the ticket, take the ride." became a mantra. Not finishing this exercise in stupidity would be boring. I have to know what it's like!

I pull up next to Ralph from Centerville around mile ten. He's a chatty Cathy telling me about being overseas and going to Clemson. A pretty nice guy it seems. I'm trying to figure out a way to politely drop him when he says all miserable like, "You can go on if you want to."

I want to, but decide to hang. I'm not sure why. When we hit the 14mi rest stop he pulls over and I bang on. I have family waiting and a schedule to keep although I'm not about to check my average mph at this point. I come around some corner and stop the bike because I can't reach into the back pocket of my jersey without wrecking. I'm about to try one of my sons experiments he's been dying to find out about.

I pull out a strawberry Clif Shot Energy Gel with Caffeine, tear it open and squirt it into my mouth. It has the consistency of warm, diluted jelly and if you try hard tastes like strawberries. I don't feel a flood of energy but I do feel a bit better in the energy department. I soldier on.

The roads are turning increasingly into chip and tar types. Not a lot of fun. Chip and tar is where they put a bunch of gravel down with a little tar and let the cars pack it in over time. It's an inexpensive way of maintaining these country roads. The trick is to keep your bike where the gravel isn't. My concentration goes way up as my speed goes way down when I begin to hear that 'gravelly' sound under the tires.

This one road I'm on feels like the worlds longest driveway. I'm actually pretty relaxed on it because I know that cars can't get up a serious head of steam on them and it should be lightly traveled. I'm looking with increasing hope at my odometer. I should be nearing the 28mi rest stop. My back and butt are in pretty much full revolt at this time cutting through the Aleve I took before I left.

Some chick goes flying by me headed 'home' saying, "Great lunch!"

I hit the 28mi mark and no rest area. My entire body screams, "THEY PROMISED!!!" and wants to screw it all, turn around and head back. I'm at war with a dual state of being, my mind is saying that we really want to go a bit further for some food and particularly drink since both water bottles are empty while my body is shooting back the finger.

I can feel myself getting dumber like HAL in 2001. Reduced to just turning the crank, an animal with no higher brain function.

At thirty miles I hit the rest area which is a quarter mile off the road on some gravel road. I walk the bike up to it most definitely not wanting to flat. I find a trashcan and put my spent gel pack in it, park my bike and get in line.

Rest stop at 30 miles

I grab some stuff that I figure wont make me puke but also have the sinking feeling that it wont be of caloric use until I get to the finish.

Lunch

I gab some more with Ralph from Centerville before heading back, both water bottles full of water - I couldn't find any Gatorade.

It's getting hot now, the bike thermometer reading 95 degrees. Ten miles into heading back (just twenty to go!) I get the first serious twinge of a thigh cramp.

Uh-oh! This is unexpected news and my complaining butt and back immediately shut up as I frantically send inquiries to the thigh, "What's up?! How can I help, short of stopping or quitting?". When it comes to cramping my legs do not mess around. If cramps 'come on' then I lock up like a tetanus victim in total agony, it ain't pretty. I dial back on the effort and ponder what to do.

I have NO IDEA. If I cramp it's usually AFTER the ride, not during it.

I pull into a driveway and when I unclip both legs start twinging like the full onset of cramps are coming on. I'm squatting over the bike looking like I'm going to poop on it (which is mirroring my thoughts at that moment) and trying hard not to cramp by steering away from any position that will head in that direction.

I gingerly dismount from the bike and do some stretches while going to phase two of my kid's experiment and eating two little chews from Clif Bar Energy Chew Shot Blocks. I like those better than the gel.

Six miles to the next rest area, I barely make it after humping up some horrible hill so slowly that I thought I was going to fall over. They have Gatorade (thank God!) and I'm wolfing that down along with a banana and a strawberry while listening to this two day stud yapping, "I feel great! We should just go ahead and do a double century!" I want to punch him, I'm so jealous. I'm hobbling around and call into my wonderful wife explaining that I have 'technical difficulties' filling her in on the cramp situation. She offers to come get me but I only have fourteen miles to go and I really want to do it (Buy the ticket, take the ride). I also know in my current state it will take about an hour and a half to go the distance.

She's supportive. Thank you for that my love.

Some lady gives me two ibuprofen and I say see ya to Ralph from Centerville again. I'm cranky and back on the bike. Feeling like a dog it's getting harder and harder to understand people when they're talking to you and I absolutely hate my pedals, particularly the left one. As motor function dies the slow death of the hunger strike it's getting increasingly difficult to clipin. At one point I went about a half mile before finally getting the shoe clipped in. Beyond frustrating.

I pull up next to Darwin from Yellow Springs ("D" to his friends). I'm telling him about the cramps and he's advising me in his slow stoner drawl to raise my bike saddle two or so centimeters to work different muscle groups.

I think he's insane.

He offers to ride with me since it's only a mile or so to go. My odometer tells me it's more like three. I hope he's right, he seems convinced that the bike trail crossing is just around the corner. I'm out of Gatorade, having sucked it down at every cramp twinge.

Going up some minor grade hill the cramps come on. My pal for life "D" drops me like a brick and I pull over on the side of the road, glumly dismount and wincingly start trying to stretch out the cramps. While I'm kowtowing to the bike various groups are passing me asking, "Are you OK?" while not breaking cadence. I glumly reply, "Cramps" while hearing various mutters of understanding like, "Too bad." They just want to get home not stop and stare at some crampy loser - there's nothing they can do. I understand.

I feel bad knowing I'm one mile out and my family has been waiting for me for over five hours. The cramps ease and I pedal in.

Heading in...

Honestly, I'll hold the memory of my family sitting under the Yong's sign cheering for me the rest of my life! I'm soooo tired I know I'm not giving them their due but it doesn't mean I don't feel overwhelming gratitude.  I spent 4 hours 45 minutes in the saddle and 5 hours fifty minutes on a ride of 59.79 miles. goFast tells me, "Congrats Bill! When you go for distance PRs, forget about the speed as it should be slower. Now for that 59.79... never, I repeat, never end a ride 0.21 miles from a round 10 number! That is bad juju. Always ride around in little circles in the parking lot until it clicks over to 60!" At the time, standing in front of my family all I wanted to do is get off the bike and go home! So I'll have to take this bad juju but I'll keep it in mind in the future.

Am I ready for a century? Nope.

Will I continue trying these things so I can attempt one? Yep :-)

See you on the road

Spandex: Right or Privilege?

Contador Checks Out Schleck's Girly Butt on the Col du Tourmalet

I'm on record as not exactly being a fan of Contador but one has to respect that show he and Schleck put on yesterday. It's down to the time trial in which Contador is favored but either of these two deserve the win.

Flush with envy at their girly butts I impulsively registered for a fifty-six mile bike ride this Sunday. This is my first 'event' type ride and I get to pay about $200 ($25 registration, $125 for some Alzheimer's Association donation and $55 for the jersey which is totally bitchin - and will be my first bike jersey) to suffer for approximately three hours. It's a similar experience and cost at Madame LaGrange's House of Bondage and Burning Thighs... um... so I've heard.

Now McBeal is absolutely correct when she defiantly states, "Spandex is a privilege, not a right!" So I'm a little leery about putting this jersey on even though I ordered the largest size available, mega-tent I believe.

Never one to shy away from the important topics of the day I decided to throw this question out to you, oh my brothers and sisters. Spandex, right or privilege? You can vote on the bar to the right at the top. Have a great weekend, think of me on Sunday and laugh, 'k?

Oh yeah did a 45min workout on the spinner this morning - shrug.

On Loathing Contador

Bike Snob, although refusing to commit (the pansy!) to an actual position on the matter, put it best on why I despise Contador:

On one hand, character is an important part of what makes a great champion, and while there's certainly no rule that you should wait for a competitor it is often observed nonetheless. Even Lance "No Gifts" Armstrong famously waited for Jan Ullrich in 2001 after the magenta-clad German crashed into a ditch. In actively attacking Schleck and capitalizing on bad luck rather than superior strength, Contador may have squandered the sort of good will that one day could be worth more than a few seconds, and should he win the Tour de France his legacy could be tainted.

Anyway, I hate Contador, viewing this sort of opportunism as poor sportsmanship. I have to get those shades though...

I attempted to do intervals on the spinner today - I'm probably going to talk to a trainer and see if there's anyway I can get my HR strap synced with the machine. It's pretty tough without the heart rate feedback to listen to Josh telling me, "Make your thighs burrrnnnn" ::shudders - I mean honestly I'd have no trouble making my thighs burn for Jill:: while trying to keep my HR in some zone. I'm curious on how I did on this workout so lets have a looksee shall we?

I can't make heads nor tails of that - it's kinda interval-ie, if you really, really wish it to be so - sigh.

My one, true, consistent reader 'Anonymous' ::waves to mom:: posted a comment on yesterday's post, "Stop whining." Serendipity sprang into action when I logged into blogger this morning and discovered I was able to add a new 'thingy' at the bottom of each post.

I quickly added 'whiny' to the 'Reactions:' section, clicked save and now can't find it in blogger's byzantine settings. If I could I'd remove 'cool' - I'm incapable of cool. Also you now have the option of sharing my whiny rants across various social networks spreading my apostate bad mood.

How cool is that?

Apostasy

a·pos·tate (-pstt, -tt)

n. One who has abandoned one's religious faith, a political party, one's principles, or a cause.

[Middle English, from Old French, from Late Latin apostata, from Greek apostats, from aphistanai, to revolt; see apostasy.]

Cocooned in a state of apostasy I blew yesterday at the gym off, filled marathonMan's ear full of profanity laced tirades on how exercise is totally pointless and generally remained in a state of mental revolt. I also pondered what I was going to do about it. At the moment I despise structured exercise, it just doesn't work (at least for me) so what do we apostates do when the system fails us? One branch re-embraces the cult of the Ho-Ho, or Marlboro returning to the soft embrace of the couch slowly slipping away. It's certainly an easy path to take.

But what do impulsive, undirected hotheads who want to be cool but never will be do? We don't know, usually wing it.

This morning I popped out of bed at 4am and checked on a Layla deep in sleep before hitting the gym at 4:30. I knew I was gonna have to get in early to check out the new Spinner. I saw it yesterday but was soooo not in the mood.

It's got this really nice touch screen, and after you're done adjusting all the various crap like seat height and what not you plop down and start entering your age, sex, weight, maxHR, if you're single, zodiac sign blah blah blah.

My biggest disappointment with the machine was that it couldn't pick up my HR strap which is ANT compatible. It would be really useful to have this feedback live during the workout. There's no easy place to put the Garmin so I had to keep pulling it out of my pocket to check my HR.

My second disappointment was Josh, the instructor on the video screen.

Member of the Master Race, Josh, Aids You Through Your Routine with Minimal Smirking and Innuendo

What happened to Jill? It would be so much better with Jill as the instructor dontcha think?

I found it difficult to listen to Josh telling me to feel this and that with all that soft porn music in the background. So I'm doing forty minutes of the 'Endurance' program and it's pretty OK. I enjoyed the workout.

As I was wrapping up marathonMan appeared at 5:30am looking all wanty/needy. This is going to be a popular machine.

A moment of zen from the NC vacation.

If you up the dpi to 720 you get a much better picture!

A Sucky Betrayal

Any girl in the world could have easily known me better
She said, You're strange, but don't change, and I let her.

In a while will the smile on my face turn to plaster?
Stick around while the clown who is sick does the trick of disaster
For the race of my head and my face is moving much faster
Is it strange I should change? I don't know, why don't you ask her? - Mr. Soul

I did not do a bike ride last night. Tomorrow night my wife and I are going out to a nice dinner to belatedly celebrate our 19th anniversary. My wife is really cute when she buries her head in her hands and asks, "Has it really been that long?!"

I overslept today but still went into the gym and caught all the cool people there, like McBeal, ponyTail and goodMood. IronMan is still a no show, protesting some political cause probably.

All thoughts of IronMan drop away when I gaze on this wonder.

A Cruel Tease

One of the spinners is in but of no use to me now. McBeal is on an elliptical which is odd and I half question my reality as I head over to the new SciFit Pro 1 upper body ergometer to see what it can do for my HR/calorie burn. I mess around with it for about five minutes while deciding if I'm at all interested in entering the gym's 2010 Indoor Triathlon. One of the events is 10 minute swim (using the new SciFit Pro 1 upper body ergometer). Maybe, but I'm not in the mood for ergometers today.

I'm pretty jazzed because I plan to weigh in after five days of 'suck.' I expect weight loss, but how much? Three pounds? Five? In the spirit of ending this on a good note I opt for intervals on the bike for twenty minutes, alternating one minute of work and rest.

About two minutes in I notice that I left my water bottle over by the distracting ergometer. I bemoan my fate and goodMood offers to get it but McBeal is closer so she saunters out to fetch the thing. Walking towards me, rocking the bottle in her left hand she says, "It's warm, bleh" and makes a face before handing me the bottle.

I'm already disoriented and somewhat slightly lost in this hellish, thigh crushing routine. Work, rest - doesn't matter, it's all becoming the same when ponyTail goes all 'mom' on me.

"What do we say Bill?"

She's a blur, I have my glasses off and sweat is freely rolling into my eyes. I'm thinking, "What do we say about WHAT ponyTail?! I like to 'Move it, move it'? Cuz that's the song currently blasting into my head through these earbuds." I sorta hear the words 'thank you' through the music and anaerobic haze and glance over at McBeal.

She's sadly shaking her head no and looking positively suicidal over Bill's lack of manners. Over in her section of the gym society is still in play and there are things called rules, manners and order. Over where I'm currently existing it's gone Lord of Flies and it's all about the next breath while trying to keep this cadence above 110 on level 12 baby. It's hard, so very hard.

But before my frontal lobes totally collapse and I'm engulfed in the Id of music rhythm and need for air I manage to gasp out, "THANK YOU ALLY!!!" and take a swig of water in salute. It is warm. Bleh.

McBeal visibly brightens, her faith in all that is good restored. No thoughts of suicide now. She will live another day which is a great thing unless she's litigating your ass into the ground, and that's still great since it's not me. So those of you who've wronged Ally, BITE ME!

ponyTail is still asking/mentioning/talking about something but I'm pretty stoned on this exercise crap now and like a dog I'm watching her lips move, unsure of what she's saying while trying to judge her tone. Her tone seems amused so I'm not concerned about her braining me with a medicine ball.

I sink into the workout.

I come out of it, wipe the machine down, stagger around like a drunk and get the bright idea that it would be just peachy to have my picture taken snuggling the Spinner box. This is a great day! Looking exasperated ponyTail succumbs to my begging and decides to take my picture with my latest darling! I offer to lick the box but ponyTail winces and mentions that's probably not a good idea.

She hands me the iPhone and I look at the picture. I look like a fat whale. Gawd, am I really that hideously flabby? Really? REALLY??! But I've been working out... Since I'm certain you rat bastards want to judge for yourselves here ya go:

Only using the full power of PhotoShop's 'crop' feature can I show you my sheer happiness and desire for this Spinner. Just being near it makes me sleepy.

Feeling pretty gosh darned good about the day and wanting to see the fruits of my five days of labor I head to the locker room to shower and weigh in.

I nervously stand before that queen of all bitches The Scale and exhale before stepping on it. I clearly recall my starting weight of 217lbs and begin sliding the counterweight down to a new reality...

216

I... see...

Rise of the Apostate Bill

Bitterness rises like bile and flows through my psyche. I have played by the rules this time, not eating to excess, doing daily double workouts to the point it caused unneeded stress at home... actually trying very hard in the gym...

Smirking, I step off the scale wondering if it was worth it.

Nope.

The Apostate Bill Dives into a Sea of Death Donuts

Thursday's Suckiness - Cracks Appear

I'm halfway across Avery-Murfield when the weirdness starts. This is a four lane road with a nice berm in the middle where fragile bicyclists such as myself can hang out waiting for traffic coming the other way to pass. sigh My powers of description blow. It looks like this:

So I'm in the middle part, trying not to unclip (it's an inconvenience) waiting for the traffic going from the top left of the pic to the bottom left to pass on by when this lady in the left lane just stops and begins to studiously ignore my frantic head motions telling her to please keep moving. While she's ignoring my poor attempts at sign language all the cars behind her swerve into the other lane and blow by.

I unclip and mistrustfully eye her until the cars clear, then nodding my gratitude I get across the intersection and proceed along my merry way wondering if I've grown so huge that I look like a school bus with its flashers on.

It's like 90 degrees with high humidity but it doesn't feel that bad on the bike. I'm determined to make Plain City. intoIt sent me a route which I studied and then promptly forgot but I was pretty sure I could get there at least.

intoIt's Route

In my defense (cuz my 'loop' is a TAD smaller than intoIt's) my objective was to get there and get home. As I'm approaching Industrial Parkway on Mitchell-Dewitt intoIt is suddenly at my side, "Billlll" and he's gone. He has no time for me this evening. I feel like Cadel Evans during Stage 9 of the Tour without the tears as I watch him disappear.

I turn onto Converse and promptly fall in love with it. It's about 2 miles long, flat and straight as a runway. I make a mental note to try and do some interval work on this road.

I go into Plain City crossing some bridge that leads me into a pretty park. I have no idea where to go next so I amble around some back roads and it just seems nice. My lower back is starting to hurt and my hands are going periodically numb. I'm still trying to figure out how to handle my posture etc on the bike. I know when I start to get tired my posture changes and I push on the handlebars (hands go numb) and my back starts to hurt. I try and adjust but by then its too late and I just have to get through it.

Bill's Legendary Route

On the way back I meet this guy named Asif who's also on a Madone. He's impressed that I've ventured off the bike path. He's kinda wanty/needy and wants to go with someone (me) on the road. I can follow that but I'm not sure I'm the guy. I get his cell phone number but I'm not sure I'll follow up or not since I kinda like riding alone with my thought (not thoughts, I'm incapable of multitasking).

I get home to unforeseen tension in the house. I've been puzzling it out and I think it's because I've run too far to one side of the boat and have been too self-involved on this whole 'suck' business. Of late my life has consisted of getting up at 4am, doing the gym, work, evening bike ride and in bed by like 9:30pm leaving little time for others.

The fault is my own.

The joys of having an addictive personality.

Wednesday, Sucky Burnout Onset

Bubbles is cranky and giving off this vibe that I'm the root cause of this crabbiness. The reality is probably merely half-true. I'm burning out so my mental acuity is going all wobbly.

This wobbliness was expected. Part of the process that I'm putting myself through. Again, I don't know why but something deep down is telling me to do it, suck it up buttercup. Go for burnout in a misguided, fuzzy attempt to try anything, anything at all to regain my former interest in exercise. Burn out this lethargy.

It rained most of yesterday but the clouds cleared and I was able to 11.5mi on the Madone. I was already feeling sore from the interval workout in the morning so decided to try and find the route intoIt was babbling about to a burg called Plain City. You have to love that name it rates right up there with Bland, Virginia. Although in Plain City's case they were probably thinking of plains like in High Plains Drifter and having their town destroyed by Clint Eastwood's ghost. But what do I know? So I head off down this road but I'm not a fan of it and make a mental note to up the priority of my helmet mirror although every car that passes me was very polite about it. I cross Industrial Highway and get to the top of this hill and don't see the right intoIt was vaguely describing but see a hard curve that I'm just not in the mood for. I turn around and ride for a bit longer before heading home. Most of the work was done in zone 2 and I felt better for it after it was done.

I may try and go for it tonight. I've never been to Plain City on a bike.

So this morning I get up, although the dog doesn't, read some news and drink some coffee before heading into the gym and doing thirty on the elliptical waiting for Bubbles to unveil her new routine. She did and pushed me at times during it. So ninety minutes this morning with more to follow tonight.

High Plains Drifter

Tuesday, the Second Day of 'Suck'

I'm gonna crash and burn, I'm already tired at 7am and have to get to ... heck I don't know, Friday? Does Friday work for you? Before doing my next weigh in. If I'm not happy after five days of suck then I shall go on what will become a legendary binge of donuts, beer and probably barfing which might cut into the weight gain and prolong the binge.

So, I'm happily typing into my little manifesto here after consuming my morning breakfast of coffee, Aleve and tepid G2. I'm not sure the G2 is gonna cut it; I'm pretty sure that I'm going to be visited by God's gift to cramps before the week is out. I had another little peek at the future this morning when I was trying to get out of ponyTail's way since I was flat on my back stretching while she was in desperate need of a BOSU ball. One particular AB locked up with such stabbing pain that I had to roll over on my tummy and try anything to stretch the little bastard out. How do you deal with that? Pressing on it does not work, that's for sure. I'm certain I'll be half asleep in some meeting, make the wrong move and start screaming as this stupid little muscle gives me the what for. The next thing I'll wake up to a appendectomy scar and a very embarrassed surgeon.

So, since I'm determined (I don't know why so don't ask) to get the metabolism ratcheted way up I took the bike out last night in 91 degree weather for a 12 mile ride. A bike path kind of thing through this park called Glacier Ridge. As I'm ambling out there on the bike this dude pulls up next to me, decked out in Trek attire on some red Madone that was far better than mine.

It was intoIt. He puts on the breaks, calls out my name and we ride a long together for a bit shooting the breeze about the Tour and Lance's bad luck. He's gonna give me some alternate routes to try out sometime into bike friendly country. He's just doing a 20 mile cool down after some hellish, thigh destroying ride he did the day before. He looks like a pro on his bike, totally at ease.

He peels off and I turn my attention the to the interval setting on my bike computer. I had configured it for one minute of work, two rest with ten iterations. You can't see it on the pic but a black bar appears across the bottom of the screen slowly filling up, when the work interval is complete a half-black bar finishes its way across the screen. This is pretty easy to discern when you're pedaling along in either phase.

What's not so easy is dealing with all the other bike dweebs out on the path with you. It makes keeping a sustained work interval 'interesting' along with the twists and turns of the path itself. I'll try it on the road next where I might be able to get more sustained effort before running up on a family of four out for a casual evening ride.

Here's what a 30min interval workout looks like in the real world:

Here's what it looks like in a controlled setting:

I'm not sure which is better for me but I like the 'Real World' better. Weather permitting I'll try again tonight.

Turning the Dial to "Suck"

It's Monday and I have to get my head back in the game, that must be why I'm stomping on this StairClimber at 6am pondering my past and future behavior while quietly steeling myself for the email onslaught I've studiously ignored while on vacation.

goodMood is rather ephemeral on the StairClimber next to me, a similar aura surrounds awesomeGirl. Like ghosts slowly coming into focus they're just not quite real yet. I'm wobbly because I've already had to do math this morning because there were no 20 minute StairClimber spreadsheets, only ten and fives. So I grabbed a ten minute one and tried to double it. I messed it up so when Bubbles came in all bubbly I pantingly made my request that she please print more before I kill myself with a cardiac infarction. I'm talking to her hunched down, so close to the controls of the machine that I'm kinda considering kissing them since I'm in the full grip of that oxygen deprived fugue state I tend to get in whenever I lift anything heavier than a pencil.

Heaven wafts by... No, no, no... one must not dwell in the past. I mentally shut the image down. I fall off the StairClimber and grab a fist full of cleaning wipes to wipe the soggy machine down when I notice McBeal sauntering in with an armful of 'vice' (People magazine) clutched to her chest. She hops on goodMood's freshly wiped down machine and starts trudging up the stairs while reading about if The Bachelor is gay or not. I don't know how that girl can do that, two things at once like read and go up stairs but her mind is far stronger than mine. Still it's kinda spooky.

I'm getting fed up with myself and my indolence. I get a drink from the water fountain (forgot the water bottle today) and get on the... what's it called? The... half ball thingy... oh yeah! BOSU ball and start doing crunches. I follow that with sit up get ups with the 10lb medicine ball before running completely out of steam at 14. Then my ABS give me a massive cramp so I stretch out by laying on my back on a stability ball until that passes. That was fun let me tell ya.

I stroll over to Bubble's throne and ask her about this ABS cramping thing.

"Were you drinking this weekend?"

"Maybe" ::glares at StairClimbing McBeal::

"Well that could have messed up your electrolytes."

Figures. I'm tired of this half-assed lifestyle I've been leading of late. When I was at 205 and 15lbs from my 190lb goal I got quite discouraged when I couldn't get the weight down (this was back when I was doing some hellish Bubbles HEAT course) so I just kicked it into idle and started to coast. I clocked in at 217 today.

Enough.

It's time to 'push it.' Rev up my metabolism to some high chittering whine like a floored gas pedal with the car in neutral ... I'll probably fail but so what? I hope I have enough character to go down swinging.

Taking a deep breath Bill cranks the exercise meter to 'SUCK'

The Unconditioned

Phoned it in today, my head has gone south to NC. I spent most of the time doing some ABS, presses and jawing with IronMan, goodMood and awesomeGirl. I also checked out the new machine.

It's a cardio-machine a lot like a bike except you pedal with your arms. It's primarily designed for people with bum knees and those that Bubbles euphemistically called, "The unconditioned." awesomeGirl is stage whispering to me while we watch Bubbles' demo, "She means flabby people." Bubbles replies, "You can be skinny and unconditioned."

awesomeGirl has her doubts, she decides she hates the skinny, unconditioned folk. I'm still trying to wrap my head around the term 'unconditioned' - it sounds too politically correct to me.

Back in my day it was called, "Out of shape."

It's been about a week and I still can't get La Grange out of my head...

Have mercy.
A haw, haw, haw, haw, a haw.