This morning marked a major milestone for me. Two Hundred. 200. Finally. 200 pounds. I’m as psyched to be down to 200 as I was the first time I was that heavy. I’d worked my ass off (on?) eating a huge amount of very boring food, giving what precious little money I did have away to supplement companies and gym memberships, getting up at 4:30 in the morning so I could train in solitude at 5:00. Now I’m getting up at 6:00, eating small amounts of fantastic food and spending all my money on bicycles. What strange twists life takes.
On my desk there is a calendar full of bumper-sticker wisdom and occasionally amusing quotes. Despite their relative worthlessness, from time to time one appears that makes me pause and think. Last week I was greeted with It is not the fruit of a man’s toil that matters, rather it is what he becomes from it – or something to that effect. I’m not sure where you separate fruit from what he becomes in a situation such as losing the weight (or gaining the weight). Is the weight loss the fruit and the discipline the true reward? The awareness? When does one become the other?
In more money-centric scenarios it is of course easier to draw the line. I ran into an old acquaintance – an old employer – the other day. It was pure chance that I happened to arrive in the middle of what can only be termed a complete shit storm. It was classic him. Despite having countless lives depending on him, he’d worked for months, perhaps over a year, putting together a plan that would see him exit the business he’d built up over the past 40 years. He did this without telling anyone in the business save perhaps his soon-to-be ex-wife / business partner. You’d think with all that time and effort, he’d have a smooth and painless transition but just the opposite was true.
His staff were all running around shaking their heads in disbelief as they were unexpectedly packing up the operation and moving, the real-estate having been sold out from under them with less than 2 weeks warning. Actually that’s unfair – they didn’t have 2 weeks warning, they had weeks of rumours from other companies, in particular the company already advertising that they were taking over that particular piece of property. It was just 2 weeks of formal notice. Then, the other shoe dropped “and by the way we sold the entire operation in both locations to new owners”. Tah dah! New owners means a new management team and as of Friday his current management team had zero idea confirmation of their future employment. That they were his immediate family seemed not to factor into his plan.
On the surface, the man has made millions of dollars, suffered a rumoured 8-figure settlement with his ex-wife, alienated his staff and family and left everyone thinking he’s version 3.0 of Slimy Scheming Duplicitous Greaseball, comes complete with more bullshit, thinner lies and improved misdirection! By one measure he won big – lots and lots of money in the bank and the bragging rights to say I built that. On the other he has the respect of few and the company of almost none. I couldn’t provide a 5-figure divorce settlement if I was pressed, I don’t get to drive around old musclecars or fly first-class but I’ll tell you now – I wouldn’t trade my life for his for 5 minutes. I don’t like the price of his fruit.
On an entirely different note…I found a new rabbit. A new purple rabbit. A new purple rabbit dressed identically to me (except he had a green plastic tub bungied to his bike). Friday morning dawned cold and windy with a “feels like” of just 2 degrees. I was up early, had some extra time before my late morning t-time meeting and no excuses not to ride – except for the wind and the cold and the laziness. I headed out in my stretchy pants and long-sleeve shirt marking the end of summer mornings, not really knowing where I was going to go. Common sense would dictate starting by heading into the wind but I never claimed to have a lot of sense. I went south and immediately fell in behind a guy I can only describe as naturally clothed.
In shorts, sleeveless t-shirt and prodigious body hair, he hammered away in front of me setting a very nice pace of 35 km/h. This was not going to be an easy undertaking and he was showing no sign of putting any effort into things. There was no way to get by without looking like I was desperately trying to pass him for the sake of passing him. Which I was. My opportunity came in a most unexpected spot – a little hill. We were already traveling fast and I carried that momentum as far as I could, downshifting early and spinning up like mad. I passed him the moment the grade started in earnest as he faltered and shifted late. I went by still carrying a good deal of speed and never looked back. Cresting the top of the hill, I spied my new purple rabbit not more than 40 meters away. ‘click’ ‘click’ ‘click’ responded the shifters. There would be no rest for my wicked self.
My new rabbit was unaware of his newly appointed status but was maintaining a steady pace just shy of the hairy one’s, perhaps 33 km/h. I chased him down but couldn’t close to less than 10 meters. As I got closer, he’d inch away, I’d put my head down and try to dig up just a little more and I’d slowly reel him back in again, over and over. Speeds bounced off the 40 km/h mark as my lungs threatened to explode.
Satisfied that I’d held the chase until our paths thankfully diverged, I relaxed for a moment, trying to catch my breath. No more than 150 meters after taking the divergent route, he was suddenly beside me, then in front of me and the chase was back on. I tried valiantly to re-mount an attack but I’d blown up after the first round. I followed, rather than chased, him out until our paths diverged once more on Blackfoot Trail. I headed south towards Glenmore Trail, fully expecting to have him pass me once more for good measure. He didn’t.
My folly and lack of common sense was punishment enough however. Having reached my half-way point, I turned around to head home, blown-up, sweaty and beaten. With a headwind. It’s hill-training, it’s hill-training, it’s hill-training…