Unfortunately it’s an eating, drinking, sleeping machine. Despite all the sweating, all the swearing and all the kilometers spent on the rescue bike, I’ve not managed to get back to my pre-hibernation weight. Why? As I look in the mirror, the answer is easy. It’s your food stupid.
Oh sure, I could argue about slowing metabolism or sub-par hormone levels, environmental contamination and chemicals in my food, but I won’t. It’s not true. I’m not losing weight because I keep eating everything I work off. Doughnut day? Yeah. Perhaps more aptly termed Multiple Doughnut Day. I don’t have a sweet tooth, I have a sweet set of teeth. The thin end of the sugary wedge is, I believe, an understatement.
I’m sure it doesn’t help that I can’t avoid going for Pho. That spicy Vietnamese treat of spectacularly tasty goodness in a bowl almost as big as my head. Adam is fairly convinced (while equally addicted) that it must be unhealthy – a common trait amongst my favourite tasty foods. I believe he must be mistaken and will summarily dismiss any evidence to the contrary. There is only one way to keep us from eating soup.
The bikes. There are now enough people bicycle commuting to work at our location that the simple act of going for lunch hinges on finding someone who likes Vietnamese food, has a motorized transport method for multiple bodies and does not have something better to do with their lunch hour. We’ve had to resort to taunts, peer pressure, cajoling, bribery and even asking politely. For this reason I think we need a company-owned lunch car. I don’t foresee any opposition to such a request from the company finance people.
My oldest doesn’t get out for nearly as many rides with his dad as he’d like to. Inevitably the weather, schedules, mechanicals and plain old no conspire to keep his riding to a minimum. I admit that part of it is my desire to go for a ride, which on the surface is what he asks to do. If we can get it together and go, he only has one destination in mind – Nose Hill. Why not? It’s close, it’s got hills to climb and he likes it.
We are quite often trying to squeeze a ride in between work and supper. If the weather is decent and it’s not too late, I try to sneak him out, picking him up at the end of the commute and making for the paths. This doesn’t give us a lot of time, but half an hour is better than waiting for the weekend only to get rained out. That is what I did today.
Last time out we rode out to the paths along 14th street, rode south to the highest peak, then coasted down until an intersection got in our way. We looped around the ‘hood and headed back to the house. This was my plan for today until he firmly expressed his desire to hit Nose Hill instead. We made it 219 meters from the house before he asked if we could stop.
“My legs, they’re just so tired dad” he complained. How are you going to get up Nose Hill? “It’s okay, I’m ready”. Mmhm. Off we went. Another 250 meters. “Can we stop at the playground, I’m really tired”. Hmmm…I looped around the playground until he was ready to go again. Under the tunnel and immediately into the climb up Nose Hill. I made it 30 feet before my inability to follow a track and my clipless pedals conspired to throw me in the dirt. Why is it, when you really, really need to get your foot out in a hurry, the clips seem to jam?
No harm, no foul – a little tip over is all. I looked back at the bottom of the hill to see my oldest in the same position, wrestling under his bike. We re-mounted and pushed on. Actually that’s a lie – we didn’t re-mount, we just pushed up to the next piece of level ground and started again. Right down to low, low gear, I spun along barely moving, hoping he’d keep up with me. It worked for a short distance before he found himself under the bike again.
He got up and started pushing it along while I pedaled away. Despite my admonishment to ride his bike on our bike ride, he continued to push. And push. And push. Ultimately he pushed it all the way to the very top. While I am amused by such a course of action, I’m also deeply impressed. When he quits trying to ride it, I think he’s being lazy, doesn’t want to try. Then he pushes and pushes and pushes that cheap bike that weighs half of what he does (I really need to get him a better bike), to the top of the park. That’s not lazy. That’s determined. Dedicated. Dig-deep dedicated even. I am proud.
You might think he’s pushing it up so he can fly down. That’s what I thought. Seems reasonable and worthwhile. A reward for all that pushing. You and I would be wrong. No, instead of planting himself firmly and barreling down the hill risking life and limb, he cautiously makes his way along until…he stops, gets off, and walks the bike down. I am now amused, proud and confused. If he gets hurt out on the hills, it’s not going to be due to his recklessness. He’s going to get run over by his fearless younger brother.