I am not a fashionista. Sure, I believe one must use a discerning eye when selecting the proper concert T. Also, any irreverent humor printed on cotton better be worth more than a subtle chuckle and should only be understood by approximately 23.5 % of the general public. And I am not quite at the point where I let my wife pick out my shirts and pants but she does pick out my boxers from time to time. That said, I do have a weakness. I succumb to the power of the kit. I never thought I’d consider spending a c-note on a shirt. But recently, as I shopped my favorite online “Mamil” site, there it was calling my name. With a heavy Italian accent, kind of like when I was 8 years old hearing la mia Mamma calling me home for spaghetti dinner.
New year’s resolutions can be fickle initiatives that quickly dissolve as fast as a New Year’s Day Alka Seltzer chaser. In years past my resolutions were long forgotten by the time Groundhog Day came around. But this year my commitment and resolve need to take priority one as it will completely affect my life. It is time for a new body, a new soul and to embrace the process of change itself, not just the results that I hope to accomplish.
This weekend I raced my first non-practice criterium since my spine surgery almost a year ago. It was a bit of a milestone for me and I really embraced the accomplishment. I had been feeling pretty good in the saddle lately and even managed to drop another 8 lbs. So when I finished a somewhat hilly little crit course and managed to finish with the lead group I actually felt pretty good. I was even convinced that my lycra encased sausage bod was looking a bit better than it had in the past. I felt a bit stronger and maybe even a bit slimmer. Until, one of my teammates posted a pic of me in my pre-race starting line stance. Other than the fact that my stature resembled that of a mountain gorilla that had gorged itself on mangos and doughnuts, all was OK.
Training comes in many different forms. It is late January. The days are short, the darkness and cold unite to oppress the spirit. We tend to seek warmth and shelter under a comforting layer of carbs and belly warming badness. Under a warm neon glow these beacons and oh-so-comforting nostalgic “suggestions” called out to me.
Resistance training is now in session.