For those that do not know, I’m on a bit of a weight loss project at the minute.
It involved (in no particular order) cycling and no crap food. Come the start of last November, my scales nearly collapsed under the weight of my weight.
Incredibly I had grown so large that my potted belly had even gained its own moons if only to rival the crumb like bodies rotating around Neptune and Saturn; however much working out in the months since has seen their gravitational pull dissipate and waistline shrink (a little).
From 18 stone 3 lbs (255 lbs or 116 kilos), I’ve shrunk to a mammoth 16 stone 1 lb (225 lbs or 102 kilos) with more shrinkability hopefully coming at a later date. Thus far, “pretty happy with myself” covers what’s in my head up until now.
Normally try to get in about 30 miles of cycling around the nice and leafy Victoria Park (London) before or after work. My bike is heavy and I am slow – this is bound to take a while; however I have still got enough momentum to outrun the drunks as they wake up in the middle of the grass patch.
Last week, I was sweat drenched and making my way around the park on my old bicycle, when a guy in his mid-40’s (I think) passed me right around the outside… on Rollerblades.
No way. Not a chance. No one is going to pass me and my bike on crappy Rollerblades!!
As is the manner of all things manly, a race ensued as the mysterious Rollerblade Man and I battled hard for lap after lap – passing and repassing, daring to lead and daring to chase.
Rarely were we separated by more than 25 feet and the gap was often 10 feet or closer. Toward the end of the opening lap, Rollerblade Man was trailing very close and as I slid slyly across the poorly paved tarmac at turn 5’s Cricketer’s Gate, my rear wheel and his leading foot very near collided – disaster was so close at hand, so narrowly avoided.
Rollerblade Man paid me in kind on the straight at the beginning of the third lap. Passing the park manager’s office, the fitness freak tried to run me into couple walking their two children – a truly Schumacheresque move from the wiley mover.
And so for lap after lap, we continued to battle hard, one getting a small lead only to see it diminished moments later.
This went on for 6 miles.
It had to finish eventually and at the beginning of the seventh mile, my legs screamed “no more.” For months, I had been riding what I considered to be hard, but I cannot remember the last time I was that utterly shattered.
As we crossed the start / finish point the lead was mine, but whereas I collapsed sore on a park bench, Rollerblade Man kept on going lap after lap after lap.
Hmmm…. seems he had been playing with me the whole time (bastard).