My enabler

When I was young I was taller and didn’t have a weight problem. Now I’ve shrunk at least an inch and have for years been engaged in the mid-life Battle of the Bulge. Of course at 51, mid-life is over as 102 isn’t in my genes or my game plan.

With the exception of runway models, jockeys, and wrestlers, few people obsess about their weight as much cyclists. Even though the rest of the world generally looks at us and says, “Fit,” we invariably look at each other, and especially ourselves, and say, “Fat.”

Of course in the Old Person racing categories, weight is largely irrelevant in crit racing, the predominant race type. A certain champion who shall remain nameless regularly smashes everyone even though he barely fits into his skinsuit without a hoist and two giant, greased shovels. He is very jolly about it, too, and he should be, because half of the 84 people he just smashed are fanatical weight obsessives, which is to say completely fuggin’ miserable. He not only gets to win, he obviously gets to eat, and eat again.

In road races weight plays a role, but not really the way you might think. In the hardest climbing races of the season, the old farts in contention are indeed lean, and one or three, who shall also remain nameless, have the terrible stunted and corpse-like figure of someone who has wasted away for years in a prison camp. Gaunt, bony, stringy, and not-good-to-eat-even-when-cooked is how these guys look.

What’s instructive is that when it comes to getting on the hilly road race podiums, it’s always the same guys, give or take a manorexic, which means that the other forty riders who really are starving themselves in preparation for their DNF or 28th placing are not getting any meaningful benefit from their weight obsession and diet misery. Why not just have another helping of butter to go with your ice cream bacon burger and be satisfied with 30th, or with being the 10th-placed DNF, or even the 1st-placed DNS?

Answer: Because weight obsession is another of the simulacra that, along with full carbon wheels that are 100% carbon, fosters the illusion of “We’re pro, too.”

In the past my dieting has followed the pattern of all diets: Quit eating and quit big, wait until the body begins to digest itself, declare success on the scales along with a 50% drop in power, daily energy, and sex drive (make that 95% for the last one, okay, 99%), do a couple of races at the new Cooked Chicken Chris Froome weight, DNF, check into the ICU for intravenous fluids, and then as soon as possible hop back on the burger-and-fries express.

Of course like any problem that you’ve had for a long time, it can’t really function unless the people around you have adapted to it. They are called enablers; mine is Mrs. WM, and she enables me thus:

Me: “I’m going on another diet. Nothing but apples, water cress, and almond skins.”

Mrs. WM: “Okay.”

Me: [three hours later] “I’m tired.”

Mrs. WM: “You want me to fix you a snack?” The alleged snack, of course, has already been fixed, and it is a three-course, 6,500-kcal meal.

Me: [longingly] “Okay. But only a small half-plate.”

Mrs. WM: [shoves fully loaded half-plate in my face] “You gonna get onna wiener droopies if you don’t keep eatin’.”

Me: [after fifth half-plate, groaning] “Dammit! I didn’t want to eat all that!”

Mrs. WM: “Don’t holler onna me! If you don’t wanna be eatin’ don’t be chewin’.”

Throughout the diet, each day of which begins with the utter hell of awakening with the thought of “Diet,” Mrs. WM punctuates every Box Moment of the day with, “You wanna eat some —- ?” The “some” is freshly baked bread, or avocado dip with chips, or bacon-wrapped asparagus, or ice cream bacon burgers topped with carbon sprinkles.

The “Box Moment” is that moment of hunger pain during which, if you want the diet to succeed, you have to crawl inside the box and suffer the hunger. It is the Box Moments, strung together, that lose the weight, and they are about as much fun as eye surgery with an ice pick, only less.

So my enabler makes the diet doubly hard because I not only have to endure the Box Moments but I also have to refuse the mouth-watering fare. What diet can survive this dual assault? None.

In other words, I’m 12 pounds down and have begun digesting bone and hair. And I’m hungry. And we’re all out of water cress.

Where the hell is my enabler?



For $2.99 per month you can subscribe to this blog and get great dieting and health tips. Click here and select the “subscribe” link in the upper right-hand corner. Thank you!

28 thoughts on “My enabler”

  1. “If you don’t wanna be eatin’ don’t be chewin’.” Now that’s classic! Or , like my FIL always says: “If it tastes good- spit it out!”

      1. Best training partners are Ben & Jerry
        If peanut butter and goldfish crackers help you climb better, look out for me!

  2. That’s awesome. I eat but don’t race. I do, however, beat myself verbally while ascending anything longer than 100 meters, no matter the rise. I believe “Fat Bastard” is my favorite nickname.

  3. What is “simulacra”?…thass a word we rednecks don’t normally use.
    Aside…just last night I had an extra helping of baby potatoes and carrots and pearl onions to go with the slices of pork roast…..Sal said, “I didn’t wnat to say anything….”
    I justified this extra helping via creative rationalization……i will flog myself this weekend on the mountain bike, the road bike, and with THE SHOVEL…..

    1. I’m not sure what simulacra is or are, except perhaps a derivative of lycra.

  4. Weigh Weenie Wannabe

    Here’s a get-out-of-Box-Moment free card.
    Weight loss is achieved by reducing the size of the stomach with a gastric band or through removal of a portion of the stomach (sleeve gastrectomy or biliopancreatic diversion with duodenal switch) or by resecting and re-routing the small intestine to a small stomach pouch (gastric bypass surgery).

    See? Weight-loss problem solved American-style! Hardy har har!

  5. By not drinking 5 pints of Sculpin/Racer 5/Stone/Green Flash or other delicious IPA a day I can pretty much justify eating anything smaller than half a horse.
    However… I need to watch out for my Ginger Beer intake.. That could be a problem…

  6. Haha! almond skins, carbon sprinkles, and “don’t be chewin!” Classic!

    It’s funny I read this AFTER my conversation with Frenchie this morning about being fatter than her even though we weigh pretty much the same. I was thinking “Ok, Tara, this is that image in your head problem that you have!” I suspect you may have been thinking the same.

  7. It sounds like racing is the root of all evil for you. Do you ever ride by yourself just for fun (that is, not commuting)? Leave the Garmin at home, turn off your phone and don’t generate any strava data. Don’t get your dick stomped. Don’t get clubbed like a baby seal. No intervals, KOMs or goals. Just go for a ride. It may seem pointless, because it is.

  8. Don’t digest the hair!
    cause there isn’t very much,
    except for your chin

    1. Dude! I been growing out the leg hair for over a year! It’s almost reached peach fuzz status!

  9. I’ve often thought liposection would be easier, faster, and less stressful (but not cheaper) than a cyclist diet.

    Now there’s an new injectable drug nearing FDA approval, that dissolves (!) double-chin fat. I can foresee it being used off-label to dissolve belly fat & butt fat, before too long. The minor disadvantage is if the dermatologist gets careless and some is injected into the skin, it’s said “some” skin” may also dissolve :-/

  10. My favorite obsession – fattie fear. Forget the diet. Just ride more – preferably in the most extreme heat you can. Thirsty just thinking about it. Time for another beer.

Comments are closed.

%d bloggers like this: