Seven weeks off isn't the same as seven years, I'm not back to last June in terms of fitness, but I feel like Cartman in the episode of South Park where he gets hooked on the weight gain formula for bodybuilders while sitting on his ass and eating Cheesy Poofs. I was 285 lbs at the doctor this morning, once again casting my shadow on membership in the 300 Club. I've never been there, but I've been this close, for instance right before Jennichild conned me into Bike MS last year and got me hooked on this cycling nonsense.
Maddy asked me if I was trying to catch a bug. I spent the whole ride like a dog with his head out the window, panting (out of shape) and grinning (glee) and shouting 'car back!' at the top of my lungs. If I ever do another Spin Class, I'll have to remember to shout that out in my Super Grover voice, that'll keep those gym babes on their toes.
We had an impressive turnout, people who had totally dropped out after we went off Daylight Savings Time, people who I hadn't seen since September. We even had a new guy who'd never ridden Trek.
Roj was there, but he forgot to screw his bike back together after changing pedals and had to bail out a mile or so in.
Most of the Whole Sick Crew decided against continuing the Margarita Monday thing, but three of us went. I consumed the sole margarita for this week. I felt it was my duty, I couldn't let the torch fall no matter what torcherous diet cults my peers have been love-bombed into joining.
Hopefully next week we'll go down to Merriam Lane and climb 55th. And go down Midland. Tonight's route was a mere 8.2 miles, so short even as out of shape as I am I wanted to turn around and ride it again the other direction.
8.2 miles, 11.1 mph average, top speed 30.2 mph.
I have four free passes to Stanfords waiting at the will-call for Thursday night but if the weather is this good, the Blue Moose ride might win out over standup comedy on the cheap.
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