Nobody has confused me with Lance Armstrong — or Al Gore — but they might if I keep doing things like I did during my Tour de Funny Pants last Friday.

Most of my Friday mornings begin something like this:

7 a.m.: Alarm goes off.

7:09 a.m.: Snooze goes off.

7:18 a.m.: Snooze the Sequel goes off.

7:27 a.m.: Snooze Part Three/Revenge of the Groggy and Growling Wife threatens to go off.

7:27:01 a.m.: Jody jumps out of bed, unplugs alarm clock to avoid potential disaster.

7:27:02-7:30 a.m.: Jody grabs grub, looks for keys, leaves house, takes out trash, always forgetting whether or not this is a "recycle week" or not, gets dressed (yes, sometimes in that order).

8-9 a.m.: Pontificates about virtues and practices of journalism with matriculating young minds at local community college newspaper.

10 a.m.: Visits friendly neighborhood weight-loss center for weekly showdown with the scales.

10:30 a.m.: Heads home, wondering if the blue and black garbage cans were supposed to go out or just the black one and which would the @%$*! scale go in anyway?

Current time: Where am I going with this, you wonder?

Last Friday, I decided to throw a bike into my 41-mile round trip. Not literally "throw a bike" ... though that did sound pretty tempting around Mile 33. But why?

Because Fridays are my biking exercise day, I didn't have a sportswriting assignment until midafternoon and I felt a strong desire to stick it to the man who's making a mint off of gas gouging, I decided to follow my crazy fitness whim.

So I put my big, Spandex-sporting behind on that skinny little bike seat and pedaled from Herriman to Taylorsville to Draper and back (uphill!) to Herriman.

My favorite part of the whole ride — beside the two one-hour breaks — was when an acquaintance at the college saw my bike and made a remark along the lines of: "Oh, no. You're not buying into that Al Gore stuff, are you?"

It's probably a good thing I didn't tell him part of my bike is made out of carbon. And if anything, it's quite possible I turned up the global warming thermometer, judging by the heat radiating out of my body.

My least favorite part of the whole ride — beside the blasted hill I live on — was when my legs were screaming: "WHAT ARE YOU DOING TO ME!"

By the intense burning sensation, I'm pretty sure they were referring to the actual two-hour-and-40-minute ride and not the fact I made them wear those goofy-looking cycling shorts.

But after a shower, some stretching and an uncomfortable rest, I actually felt fine. My legs recovered about as quickly and surprisingly well as my stomach used to after Chinese buffets.

My three other favorite parts?

First, my weigh-in revealed I've now lost 150 pounds (with about 55 to go). Second, my wife admitted being shocked I didn't call her to come pick me up along the route. And, third, I guessed right: It was a recycle week.

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