The Good, The Bad, and The Blobly

The Good  

Finally got my bike tune-up completed and took the blue beauty out for a re-acquaintance ride leaving right from the bike shop parking lot after I picked ‘er up.  And what a ride it was.  I had my iPod loaded up with a full hour of continuous workout tunes and settled in on a brand new route that I’d been looking forward to trying for quite some time.  The guy at the bike shop gave me all the details of the route:  medium auto traffic; medium-to-light bike traffic; 8ft shoulder, rolling hills, and 22 miles to the end of the road allowing for a total of 44 miles round-trip (some day . . . .).    

Country Road
Image by via Flickr

Although I’ll admit to being grossly spoiled by the scenery on many of my regular rides through the Texas Hill Country, I will say that for a “highway ride” tis really was rather scenic with water views and even wildlife.  (Cows in a river so totally count!)  

Cantaloupe or rockmelon from Australia and its...
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I didn’t even attempt the full 44 miles, but that is going to be my New Goal.  I went 15 miles, and I am planning to increase my mileage out there incrementally until the full 44 miles is no big deal and people start referring to me as Ol’ Cantaloupe Calves.  Even though I only manages about a third of the total route, I was really rather proud to see my average pace up from 11-12mph to about 15mph.  I’m thinking that the 5k EVERYDAY project has contributed to that since I really haven’t been riding nearly as often as I’ve wanted to.   

The Bad 

And now, for those of you who have been wondering with bated breath about whether or not I ever ended up taking those two small pedal turns for intimidated bikers everywhere, and whether or not I attained my recent goal of riding with others, I’ll end your anticipation now by admitting to you ever so sheepishly that I did not.  I did not make it out for the 8:30am Sunday ride for several reasons.  

Confessional at St. Peter's Basillica, Vatican.
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Primarily, my bike was in for a tune-up and the shop didn’t open until noon on Sunday.  (Which, incidentally, is a major reason I like this shop — not to in-your-face-hard-core.)  Also, I’d failed to rescue my bike from the shop the Saturday before the ride because I was racing around, headless-chicken style, planning the final touches for Sideshow Blob’s 30th Birthday Party.  And lastly, the ride was scheduled to start at 8:30 in the morning (45 minutes from my apartment, no less) on the morning after Sideshow Blob’s 30th Birthday Party — enough said.  

TEL AVIV, ISRAEL - JUNE 29:  Shot glasses of f...
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The Blobly  

I don’t own a scale.  

I don’t own a scale for many reasons, but essentially because I don’t want to be tormented by it.  I really don’t want to find myself on the scale one minute pleasantly surprised, step off the next minute to drink a glass of water, and in the third minute step back on the scale to spiral into an ungodly mix of hyperactive anxiety about working those liquid ounces off and apathetic depression about just throwing the towel in once and for all.    



My mother, however, does own a scale.  A good one.  One that is accurate and irrefutable and, therefore, despicable.  I only approach this scale feeling confident because there’s no blaming technical difficulty with this one.  This scale don’t lie.  Thus, trips to my parents’ home are generally doubled-up as weigh-in opportunities.  This weekend, being Sideshow Blob’s 30th Birthday weekend, we made the trip to my parents’ house for Family Birthday Dinner (steak, potatoes, cheese, wine, cheese, beer, chips, cake, wine, and cake).  I knew it would be an opportunity to weigh-in, I knew I hadn’t weighed in since back on Day 60 of the P90X Challenge (i.e. The Dark Ages), and I didn’t forget while I was there (I actually thought about weighing-in several times). But in the end, I just didn’t want to.And if that makes me blobly, well then so what? 

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