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.