My stomach has been growling a lot lately on rides, especially the second half when the blood sugar is getting low. I’ve been forgetting to stuff a few dollars in my jersey pocket. It’s a good thing because having cash on board would make it too tempting to stop for a snack. The fish fry sign (above) was in front of a golf country club in South Lyon, Michigan.
When I rode through beautiful downtown South Lyon last Saturday, they were having a street fair. They were barbecuing ribs and selling all sorts of other healthy protein. Like a dog, I just rode through with my nose in the air and enjoyed the aroma of meat sizzling on a grill.
Five minutes into my ride yesterday, the hunger knocks began banging. Thoughts of food started gripping my brain. All I could think about was the black cherry almond Clif Bar in my back jersey pocket. But my cravings were mixed with thoughts of self loathing and disgust. For the past few weeks, I’ve been gaining weight when I should be shedding it during one of the best training periods of the year. I feel like a portly Jan Ullrich in April, stuffed with schnitzel and strudel, when I should be approaching the bird-like physique of Andy Schleck. I’ve stopped laughing at the Radio Shack commercials because the chubby Alphonse guy is starting to remind me of myself. While drifting into workout fantasy mode, I too say things like, “They’re raising French babies and throwing soft cheeses, as is the custom here!”
I can still say with a straight face that life pressures have truly kept me off the bike. I’ve been busy buying a car, closing a real estate deal and doing all the other things you do when you start a new life. Indeed, I’ve strayed far from my “eating plan.” There have been too many tacos, ice cream sandwiches, bagels with cream cheese, Italian sausages with peppers along with hours and hours spent in an easy chair watching the Tour de France, sipping beers and munching on those Chesapeake-seasoned peanuts that I just can’t resist. I’ve rationalized the indulgence by telling myself I’m just enjoying all the things I couldn’t get during my years in China. But it can’t go on forever…but I want it to. I feel like St. Augustine during his early years of debauchery when he said, “Oh Lord, make me chaste, but not yet!” And I say, “Oh Lord make me resist that huge chunk of smoked gouda cheese, but not yet!”
So as I pedaled down the road with my stomach growling, I heard a voice: “Go ahead. Eat that Clif bar. It’s tasty and will make you feel good!” But the voice was quickly drowned out by my inner coach. He said, “You don’t deserve a snack, ya fat slob. Here’s your chance to burn that fat off. You’ve got plenty of it. Burn, baby, burn. Suffer, pay for your lack of discipline, your drive-through sins. Only a pathetic fool stops five minutes into a ride for a snack break.” Well, I ignored him. I fished out the Clif bar from my pocket and sank my teeth into the black cherry almond wonderfulness. It was soooo good.
To be fair, I should mention that yesterday I was riding at 4 p.m. and my last meal was four hours ago. It was a light lunch: vegetable juice with a turkey sandwich on wheat. Ok, ok, I did slip a slice of pepper jack cheese into the sandwich to give it some extra rib-sticking staying power. And yes, I did have a snack at Dean & DeLuca when I had second helpings at all the free sample trays. (The red velvet moomoo cream pies were fantastic). But my tank was empty and I was heading out into rush hour traffic, so it wasn’t wise to be on the roads, unsteady with hunger. Yes, I ate for safety’s sake. Right, that’s what I did.
I’m not sure how much weight I’ve gained. It’s probably not as serious as I’ve made it out to be. I’m still several kilos lighter than the average American male. There’s no point stressing out about it too much because I know what will happen. As soon as I can start training regularly again, the kilos will start melting off. I’ve been doing this so long that I know what works for me. My exercise program leads my eating plan. My training shapes and dictates my diet. As soon as I start riding seriously again, I’ll lose my taste for burgers, fries and brownies. Once I start seriously investing in my fitness, I won’t want to blow it, set myself back, eating junk. But I’m far from that point now. Yesterday, I rode past the backside of a Long John Silvers restaurant. A strong breeze gave me a good whiff of the fish being deep friend in tanks of grease. Then I heard the sound of someone going: “Mmmmmmm.” Then I realized it was me! A week later, if my training stays consistent, I’ll ride by the fish-frying joint and think: “Why would anyone want to eat that stuff?”
When I rode through beautiful downtown South Lyon last Saturday, they were having a street fair. They were barbecuing ribs and selling all sorts of other healthy protein. Like a dog, I just rode through with my nose in the air and enjoyed the aroma of meat sizzling on a grill.
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