Monday, March 19, 2012

Let me preface this, saying that I had pretty much decided to bail on my morning workout. I flew in from Dallas (more on that to come) after a nightmare of delays and fatigue, got home late at night, and had to be back in the office at eight to see patients. Given all that, it seemed prudent to skip a day of training and catch some extra sleep...but I am totally "Type A," and found myself up at four to get in my AM sufferfest.

Holy hotness! Not you; the gym. I just got back from running in freaking DALLAS. I figured the ambient temp of my gym this morning would be a welcome break from the sixth layer of hell that is TX heat and humidity. No dice. It was about 85 degrees on the indoor track. Awesome.

 My gym is pretty ghetto to begin with: the locker room floor tiles are jagged and broken, and the space itself looks somewhat less than hygienic despite the heavily advertised 60 minute daily cleaning it receives (wow, a whole hour! Too bad that's insufficient time to allow the complete removal of the body hair tumbleweed that is clogging up the shower drain). Let us not discuss the current state of the steam room. But I put up with it because it’s a couple blocks from where I live, and at four in the morning, I am not about to schlep any farther than required.

Dangers of inhaling toxic mold aside, I finished my run in the sauna and decided to round-out a good 45 minutes on the spinner. I've been trying to avoid the spin area lately because there is this older, recreational cyclist who actually wears his full kit to the gym - complete with matching purple socks - and keeps instructing me on how important it is that I do this stupid "training ride" up Rabbit Mountain which, for my non-local friends, is a small hill that old peddlers like to blow out of proportion. Every week, this giant purple asshole in unflattering spandex badgers me for twenty minutes about doing this frigging six mile ride with he and his group of friends from the Senior Recreation Department of his assisted living facility. Okay, I get it. I'm not the fastest cyclist in the peloton...and yes, I am aging (rapidly)...but really? Come on!

I figure the key is to avoid making eye contact with anyone. I shuffle over, toss on my shoes, and head to the bike. My legs were feeling a bit tight, and I was honestly over it. I should have just called it...but again, I am compulsive. No sooner do I start my intervals than do I find the purple people eater seated next to me. He actually scooted his spinner closer to my own. Head down. Don't make eye contact. Think: "Rabid Dog."

Does not work.

"You try Rabbit Mountain this week? You gotta come out with us, it's such a good climb!"

Fueled by rage, I managed to get in a pretty good cycling workout despite the disruption though, I confess, I cut it about fifteen minutes short. Mostly because I thought I might die. The only way to avoid conversing with this closet case is to work so hard that I can neither talk nor breath, and might be bleeding out my ears.

I decided, instead, to head to Two Dog Diner and grab some hard-earned tofu scramble, bowl of fruit, banana and side of granola cakes...or two. This is where is sucks to be a diabetic. I whip out my meter, test, inject...and take account of the glare from the judgemental waiter as he notices the food I have ordered. Specifically, the VOLUME of food, and probably in relation to my having diabetes. Okay, Jack, I appreciate your concern for my welfare and, perhaps, your amazement at the amount of breakfast I can cram down my gullet. I can see how you would underestimate my ability to pack in the quantity, as I am of average height and a somewhat thinner, more athletic build as opposed to being some sort of morbidly obese chewbacca who rolled in on a Rascal scooter and prodded you with the fork I brought from home while wearing a food-stained bib from the Old Country Buffet. (A teammate this weekend informed me that I "look a lot like a Schleck brother, but maybe more muscular." Ummm, thanks?)

And yes, thank you, I am trying to lose weight. I happen to be a mediocre endurance athlete and, as such, I need a lot of calories to keep me from going bat-shit crazy when confronted with mornings like this one.

I cannot wait until it is both light enough and warm enough for me to get in outdoor workouts! At least I will be in the out of doors all weekend, as I travel to AZ with the team.


  1. Someone was giving you the evil eye for eating too much??? You are so thin and sinewy!
    Sounds to me like Mr. Purple People Eater might have a little crush on you.

    1. Everyone out here has a road bike, and EVERYONE knows "the most epic ride." And they all want me to schlep my bike twenty miles to do a training ride. Not worth it. I can hop on my bike, ride 100 miles near my house, and get in ten times the endurance workout. Purple Man is just like everyone else here. It's the price you pay to cycle in CO.