Category Archives: Food

Undone by a Turkey

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Well I beat Doughnut Day and escaped without falling prey to their tasty plot.  I even went home with Adam’s Cycleops fluid trainer and rode for an hour and half.  However I drove to work Friday and as it was our office Thanksgiving celebration, I promptly gorged myself on deep-fried turkey, stuffing, a bun and a baked potato with bacon bits.  And some yams.  And dessert.  Pretty sure I had enough caloric intake to ride my 80 kilometre loop to Chestermere but I didn’t.  Ride that is.  Nooo…Instead I packed up the family and headed off to gorge myself further  on more turkey dinner  visit my parents.

Friday night came and went without too much untoward culinary scarfing.  My dad had BBQ’d up some fantastic chicken breasts some chicken breasts in the fridge so Trace cooked them up and we had some super-tasty chicken-breast sandwiches for supper.  Saturday was spent grazing primarily on my staple toast-with-peanut-butter and anything else that couldn’t escape my grasp in time like the box of Junior Mints, the Three Muskateers bar, ice cream, frozen yogurt and yet another birthday cupcake.  I now had enough food packed away to ride the 120 kilometre trip home.

Sunday was of course Thanksgiving, held at my aunt’s place for the first time in a few years.  She is a notoriously, unbelievably excellent cook.  The dishes are prepared perfectly and are all, without exception, mouth-watering.  The usuals  – turkey cooked to perfection, fluffy mashed potatoes, melt-in-your-mouth buns, perfect stuffing and gravy from heaven – and the family staples – a strawberry-and-goat-cheese salad, turnips prepared with butter and brown sugar, yam prepared with goat cheese and I-don’t-know-what-else-but-wow-it’s-good, beets, artichoke hearts, pineapple salad, homemade cranberry sauce and…more.  There was so much fantastic food I can’t even remember it all.  I ate some of everything and went back for seconds.  I suffered a massive bout of self-induced turkelepsy.

After all the leftovers were packed away and the dishes done – which is no small feat for 13 people, though I had no part in the clean-up shamefully – we had dessert.  Two kinds of pie – pumpkin and peach, topped with real whipped cream.  As one who is lactose-intolerant and generally avoids cow-based dairy of all types, I slid the whipped cream off and spread it on the kid’s pie.  No.  No I didn’t.  I took that quarter-pie piece of peach pie topped with homemade whipped cream and what did I do?  I put it in my piehole.  All of it.  However when I was offered an equally over-sized piece of pumpkin pie piled high with more homemade whipped cream, I turned it down.  No…that’s a lie.  It chased the peach pie down the piehole and tried calling for reinforcements.  I do believe of the 5 definitions St. Thomas Aquinas used defining gluttony, I hit 4 right out of the park, the lone hold-out being the inappropriate time (when is it an inappropriate time to eat food one might ask).

I capped this weekend orgy of food off this morning with not one but two of my aunt’s absolutely stellar cinnamon buns.  No other cinnamon bun comes even remotely close to delivering the sheer pleasure that these carry.  They’re so good I’m not sure I feel guilty.  However…  I hopped back on the trainer after arriving home this afternoon and couldn’t avoid noticing the extra padding I’d developed.  While trying to recover from the interval sprints I’d been riding, I was laid out across the bike, my forearms resting across the bars, head hanging gasping for air while I pedaled feebly and tried not to puke continued a more relaxed pace and speed.  This position nicely amplified the smack smack smack smack of my sweaty thighs meeting my sweaty belly with each pedal stroke.  Or maybe that was my heart trying to pump the weekend’s adventure through my system.  Either way, I’m pretty sure I have enough energy stores to do the Chestermere loop and the Red Deer loop now.  In succession.

Ah well.  It looks like a week of cold but otherwise excellent commuting weather ahead of me so perhaps the trainer and I will spend some evenings together to address some of this excess.  Or not.

The Thin End of the Sugary Wedge

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Over the course of the summer I’ve managed to shed an unnecessary 30 pounds and for the first time in over a decade, have seen the scale read under 200 pounds.  Without resting on the counter.  It has been an unplanned side-effect of the riding as fitness hadn’t been one of the drivers to keep riding.  I’ll take it though.

I was complaining commenting the other day that some combinations of my riding gear seemed more prone than others to funnel the fall wind down my back when Adam correctly noted that “that’s because your shirt doesn’t fit you anymore – it’s too big”.  He’s right – it doesn’t, and it is.  That’s pretty cool and that it was noticed by someone else is even more rewarding.  In typical Adam fashion however, it should be noted that while I’ve lost 30 pounds, he’s lost in excess of 60.  That’s amazing.  Really.  And it looks good on him.

There’s always the thin end of the wedge lurking just around the corner though.  The thin, deep-fried, sugar-coated edge of the doughnut wedge.  Tomorrow is doughnut day – nemesis day.  It’s threatening to derail my sub-200 progress entirely.  Earlier in the week I wanted some fat-laden dough-circles in the worst way.  They were haunting my every waking moment, driving me to distraction.  And why?  Because I’d had one two on Thursday, followed by some of the home-made cookies in the pantry on Friday, the rest of them on Saturday and Middle-Monster’s icing-coating chocolate birthday cupcakes on Sunday.  And pizza.  And hotdogs.  You see what I mean by the thin end of the sugary wedge?  When it comes to doughnuts, one really is the loneliest number!  Luckily my laziness trumps my appetite – I’m unlikely to cycle to the nearest Tim’s for a doughnut.

My food consumption wasn’t all bad over the weekend however, but it was…unusual.  I was sitting at the table feeling lifeless and worn out after a morning of single-parenting the monsters, trying to sort out this craving I hadn’t been able to satisfy.  Then it dawned on me.  I wanted pickles and not just any pickles.  I wanted Bicks Polskie Ogorki pickles specifically.  What makes that so odd is – I don’t eat pickles.  I don’t not eat them, they’re just not something I ever put in the shopping cart.  I pinged Trace and asked her to pick some up on the way home.  I fished them out of the bag the moment she stepped in the door and proceeded to eat half the jar.  She thinks I might be pregnant.

And then there’s the staple, my favourite, my stand-by.  Smooth peanut butter – oh how I love thee.  In the morning, in the evening, when I’m up or down, peanut butter is the perfect food.  None of this organic, processed-by-envirocherubs-in-an-outdoor-unfactory stuff either.  Gimme the gluco and the hydro and the addiditive and the preservative.  In a kitchen over-flowing with organic whole foods in one stage or another of becoming award-worthy healthy meals, it is the one commercial food I refuse to relinquish.

What about you – what’s your wedge?  What are you unwilling to sacrifice?

If you’ll excuse me I think I’ll go get some PB now…and another pickle.

Excuses

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Let’s start with the premise that this is entirley about excuses.  The excuses you formulate in your head to questions that aren’t asked, scenarios that aren’t in play and situations that are wholly unlikely to ever play out.

I re-traced my Big Ride route today and added a detour into downtown Calgary to add some extra mileage.  I didn’t want to find myself short of the 80km target I’d set like last time out.  I was looking forward to having an excuse to chow down the Shot Blok’s Lemon-Lime flavour and the Crunchy Peanut Butter bar I had lingering around.  I got a late start but at least I had a reasonable temperature at that point.

The wind was blowing from the south which comprised the bulk of the route out.  I hate wind.  A lot.  Immediately I started making excuses about my speed to nobody in particular. I cranked up the tunes and started at my front wheel while I pumped away trying to get lost in the journey.  I’m starting to despise this part of my route lately, especially as part of the Big Ride route.  I’m getting bored with it, which doesn’t bode well for a winter on the fluid trainer or the rollers or both…or neither…I could go back to slothful fatness, hibernating the cyclist portion for the season.

I wasn’t feeling particularly pumped to be out.  There’d been a string of late nights and early mornings (they’re always early with 3 monsters on the go), last night no exception as Trace and I hit the town to watch my cousin’s Calgary debut with Static in the Stars (good show).  I’d “forgotten” my dietary restraint at the post-corporate golf supper Friday and had more than my share of roast beast, not to mention a number of trips to the dessert trays.  ”Oh, but they’re just little desserts” I’d said to myself “and all that meat is protein”.  Last night’s entertainment included a lousy meal at Chili’s (but with exceptional company) and yet more dessert.  ”I’m going to need these easy carbs for tomorrow”.  Excuses.  I felt fat, slow and more than a touch unhealthy.

The ride out consisted of nothing but the wind.  The excuses began again.  ”Yeah I know I’m slow today but it’s a recovery ride” or “my trainer told me zone 2, nothing harder” and my favourite “I had an ice cream at McKay’s in Cochrane before I left and am looking forward to a second one when I get back”.  Excuses. (Cochrane to Chestermere via the canal route is 74km one way.  150km is a good ride, a believable ride – heck, it’s not even a century – 100 miles.  Next summer’s goal)

I am pedaling along making excuses for my performance in a headwind to nobody in particular.  And they’re blatant lies.  I mean really…who am I lying to and why?  Why do I care what anyone else thinks?  That’s just it though isn’t it?  I can talk about not caring all I want, but when push comes to shove or rabbit comes to chase, I’m formulating excuses to use in conversations that will never happen.

I had to spend most of the ride staring at my wheel, my knees and the path at the leading edge of my helmet visor (while positioned to stare at my knees).  To look up at the path would mean suddenly knowing how far there was to go before the next corner might turn the headwind into a slight crosswind and relief.  About 14km out of Chestermere, the route starts to head northwest again, bringing some respite from the accursed headwind.

I rode until the path stops, did a u-turn and stopped for a quick drink and a note to let Trace know I’d at least made it here, and then started heading back.  The path was now full of casual bicycle owners, seniors trying to stay active and families out with the kids.  I passed them all with a flurry of shouting, jeering and pointing.  Okay, maybe not.

I got tangled up behind a senior couple and their dog in a trailer, trying to negotiate the barricade across the rural highway when two cyclists got tied up behind me.  I took advantage of the senior’s decision to walk their bikes across the highway and passed them, not wanting to end up behind the two cyclists.  Why?  Uhm…well…if you’re reading this and don’t understand why I couldn’t permit myself to be passed without a fight, then I’ve not been doing my job here.

I lowered my head until I could only see 3 or 4 meters in front of me and started to hammer away.  I stayed in lower gears trying to keep the cadence up and had to concentrate with every stroke to avoid slacking off.  I put some distance between us but they weren’t going away.  Each time we headed into the wind I’d drop a gear and fight to keep the cadence high, shifting up when the wind died down or our course changed direction.  I prepared my excuse “it wasn’t this windy when I rode in a few minutes ago”.

At the next crossing only one of them was visible with a quick backward glance, 10 maybe 15 meters behind me.  ”No way” I thought “not going to happen” but even as I said it, I continued to ride to the right of the path giving him lots of room to go around me.  I focused on each contraction, marveling at the leg’s ability (and willingness) to continue pedaling as hard as they were.  By the next crossing he and they were gone – I’d successfully ridden him off my wheel.  But I was going to pay the price.

I’d already made up my mind to head west into downtown hoping to put on enough extra clics to get the 80km.  I got lost – not actually lost but no solid idea how to get from where I was to where I wanted to be.  Sure, I could ride it like I would drive it but that seemed foolish.  I still managed to find myself in the middle of downtown Calgary on 5th ave crowded with afternoon traffic.  I made my way to MEC and was in the process of texting Trace to suggest she bring the kids when she pinged me asking to meet at MEC.  Tah Dah!

She was going to be 15 or 20 minutes getting there so having no bike lock and not finished my ride, I headed back out to put some more miles on.  I did  a quick loop, going up to 11th street, down 9th ave to 5th street, up to tenth ave and back to MEC.  I had little gas left.  I waited for Trace to arrive and stashed the bike in the van while we went inside, empty water bottles in hand.  I wasn’t sure yet whether I was going to complete my ride or take the right-there-easy-already-loaded-going-my-way lift home.

I was torn between wanting to go out to put in another 30 or 40km, whatever it would take to hit 100km, just finishing the ride with the original planned 80, or throwing in the towel and going home with the kids. There would be no shame or judgement in the van, in fact they’d be happy – but I’d know.  After stocking up on a fistful of Shot Bloks and bars and some Honey Stingers waffles, we headed back to the van, me still unsure of what I was going to do.  Here’s my excuse.

I couldn’t.  I just couldn’t do it.  There was no way, so I unloaded the bike, put my helmet on and bid the family adieu.  I made it half a block before realizing I hadn’t turned Strava back on and pulled over to the curb just as the family went by, smiling and waving.  I had a flash of “what have I done?” as they disappeared up the road leaving me and my salt-crusted face to pedal home.  I bobbed and weaved through the city until I could get back on the path, heading east towards my original route.

As I made the turn from behind the zoo (hello muskox!) and started heading north, I was greeted by an evil surprise.  The wind had changed and was blowing from the north.  A headwind in and out is so not cool.  Wiped from not eating enough, riding people off my wheel and getting lost downtown, the headwind blew off the last of my tattered spirit.  I shifted down and once again stared at the edge of my visor as I pedaled .  Slowly.

“Almost home free” I thought as I wheeled onto the last climb having spent the previous 20 minutes in the middle ring, barely pedaling.  I passed a woman heading up the same route “always one killer hill” I said.  ”it’s the top that kills you” she replied and she’s right.  The last couple of meters of the climb to Centre Street get steeper and steeper.  As I crested the hill at the stop sign, I could hear her not far behind me but with a gap in traffic and an overwhelming desire to not be on the bike anymore, I wasn’t waiting around.

I soft-pedaled home, let myself into the yard and stared around trying to figure out what to do.  Put bike away?  Get drink?  Sit down?  Where would I sit?  What would I do with my bike?  Dazed and confused I stood there staring blankly at the yard, happy to be home and not sure what to do about it.

Some observations gleaned from my 83km ride (yes – I hit and marginally exceeded my goal):  

  • Despite riding almost daily and logging over 1200km this summer, 80km is still a considerable ride for me.  100km might have actually killed me.
  • Lemon-Lime Shot Bloks are very, very sweet.  Tasty once but I don’t think I could have them as the only flavour on a long ride.
  • Clif Crunchy Peanut Butter Bar – not so peanut butter…or crunchy.  I’ve not yet determined what it tasted like.  It’s not my favourite.
  • I didn’t eat enough on the ride and ate way too much the two days prior.
  • Sleep matters – lots and I don’t get nearly enough.
  • Despite all of the excuses I made, getting lost-ish, a persistent headwind and a chain squeak that drove me out of my mind the last 25km, I still did it.