Related posts:
Prologue: Dykes and Bikes
Day 1: A Ride Down Memory Lane
Day 2: And I'm faster than YOU, and YOU, and YOU...
Day 3: Back Pedaling
Day 4: I find a Fan Club and an Archnemesis
While I was packing for my trip I called Lorraine to find out what to bring. The conversation went something like this:
Lorraine: Have you packed your red dress yet?
Claire: What?
Lorraine: Your red dress.
Claire: Is that a joke? What would I need a red dress for?
Lorraine: For Thursday. Thursday is Red Dress Day. Everyone wears red dresses. It's really fun.
Claire: I don't believe you. Not for a second, Lorraine.
Lorraine: Fine, don't believe me then. But you're sure going to feel stupid on Red Dress Day.
Claire: I don't even think I HAVE a red dress. I look like I'm in drag when I wear a dress. Can I NOT wear a red dress? I have a red jersey.
Lorraine: Sure, you CAN not wear a red dress, but you're going to look lame. EVERYONE wears a red dress. Last year there was a guy who had cleats put on the bottom of his stiletto heels. People really go all out...
Later I called Shane.
Claire: Shane, have you packed a red dress?
Shane: No. Why would I pack a red dress?
Claire: Well Lorraine said... (and I explained it)
Shane: Whatever, that's stupid. I'm not wearing a red dress. I have a red jersey.
Claire: Lorraine said you'd look like a fool...
So, by some miracle I found a red dress in my closet (actually, it was kind of a choral color) that I hadn't worn in 7 years and packed it, even though I would look more like I was in drag than the guys.
Just because you're wearing a red dress, doesn't mean you don't have to stretch.Shane went ahead in his red jersey, and the Old Ladies turned up at about 7:45. They were all dressed to the nines in red, poofiness, laciness, shininess, fabulousness, sparkliness and hotpants. The first thing Lorraine said to me when she saw me was, "YOUR DRESS IS PINK!"
"No it's not! It's red! And don't you ever say otherwise!"
"It's pink," she corrected me.
From left to right: Lorraine, Alisa, Trish, and Narine.We spent the rest of our time pinning things onto helmets until the roadies ran around threatening to sag us all if we didn't hit the road. Lorraine pinned a pill box hat that she wasn't using onto my helmet, somewhat against my will. "Even though it clashes with your pink dress," she said as she handed my helmet back to me.
"It's red!" I insisted. It's not totally by accident that I'm not in any of the pictures from red dress day. Hey, I was in a dress, wasn't I?!
Not my picture, but we were around this chick for the hours it took us to get out of Santa María.
Finally we got out onto the road and started the SLOWING... STOPPING... SLOWING... STOPPING... ROL...STOPPING! routine. Since we were at the back of the pack, and since there were a lot of us, we had to go at a snail's pace through the eight million red lights in the town of Santa María. After about an hour and a half we were still in Santa María, we were still several miles from the first rest stop (at around 9.5 miles), and we all had to pee. We pulled off at a gas station and watched a man in a red dress walk into the bathroom and got in line behind him. About 5 minutes later we were still standing there. Clearly SOMEBODY was breaking Claire's No. 1 Rule of Public Pooping: Don't. "Fuck this, I'm going to the KFC across the street!" said Narine. Trish followed her.
Lorraine had a better idea. "Oh look! A car wash!" Alisa went in the bushes in the couple of feet between the car wash wall and a fence. Lorraine just walked right into the car wash. "It's got floor drains..." she said as she walked off.
"OH MY GOD! 1-1-1, GUYS!!!" I yelled from my place in line for the bathroom. When Lorraine and Alisa came out from their hiding places in the car wash Lorraine said, "Oh my god, you're still here?!" I made them wait another minute or two for the guy in the bathroom to come out. Then I did my business, we picked up Narine and Trish from the KFC, and resumed our SLOWING and STOPPING.
Stragglers in bike parking. This photo does it no justice.
After what felt like an eternity we hit the bottom of a long climb and were able to actually INCREASE our average speed by passing people on the way up the hill. I rode on ahead, and then waited for the rest of the Old Ladies at the top. This time I'd learned my lesson and stopped a few feet before the crest so that they wouldn't be going 35 mph yet while I was still re-mounting my bike. Before long Alisa and Lorraine turned up and I hopped in right behind them. When we hit the downhill we all stood up and hunched down into a crouch over our handlebars. I was 3 feet behind Alisa and her ass hanging out in those shiny hotpants and fishnet tights.
"ALISA! THIS IS THE BEST VIEW I'VE HAD ALL WEEK!" I yelled.
"WHAT?!" she yelled over her shoulder.
I rode up next to her and gave her a light tap on the butt. I repeated my comment. "Man, you gotta hit it harder, girl! I could hardly feel that one!" she said. So for the rest of the day I tried to get a good smack in. It's harder than it looks on a moving target. Each time she would say it was lacking something. Finally, about half way though the ride I got a good one on an uphill. My bike handling skills got much better over the course of the week. I was hitting nearly all my targets in the butt-poking game too.
We stopped at the second rest stop, which was the main street in a town of about 6 people called Casmalia. It was one of those towns made up of one poorly-paved road with a general store/post office with about as many square feet as my bedroom, and a house. In Casmalia every year they threw a dance party for us, and Lorraine had been looking forward to it for days. "Are you going to dance?!" she asked.
I don't dance.
We stood in the long line for the bathrooms, and decided to pass on the long lines for snacks. Man, showing up at the end of the pack sucked. When we went to try to start dancing (or in my case, watch the dancing), though, no one was dancing. Trish and Narine were over it and rode off. Alisa and Lorraine wiggled their butts for a couple of beats before the roadies started coming through and threatening to sag anyone who wasn't out in 5 minutes again. As we were leaving we found Kim and Mdot girl. They were not wearing dresses, pink or otherwise. Mdot girl had even foregone her red Mdot jersey for a green one from Ironman 70.3 California.
There were a couple of reasons why Day 4 was short. One was for it to be a rest day, but the other was because this was the day with the most significant hills. Coming out of Casmalia, we started climbing right away. I told Lorraine I'd see her soon and moved out to the left to pass all the fat girls in red dresses. I swear, the ride was 75% male, and all the females must have been in the back 26% of the pack. It was a pretty sad day for feminism seeing all those girls in their dresses climbing the hill at about 3 mph. I moved out to the left and started chanting "On your left" every other pedal stroke. Kim and Mdot girl were ahead of me coming up the hill. I passed them and they got in behind me. Oh no you don't! I thought. This was my chance to prove my salt after their slighte about the marathon the night before. I started powering up the hill. After a minute or so I stopped hearing Mdot girl calling out. I'd dropped her, but Kim was still there. Well, if Kim kept up with me, then Mdot girl would have no way of knowing how strong I was. Kim had to drop back and TELL Mdot girl what a badass cyclist I was. I surged. I couldn't drop Kim. Then I tried something that I'd read about, but never thought possible. "See you at the top!" I said and clicked up to a harder gear, stood up, and rode away. I stayed in that gear for about a minute, and when I dropped back down to an easier gear, Kim was gone. Ha! I'd done it. I rode hard to the top of the hill to make sure I'd gotten my breath back by the time Kim and Mdot girl showed up. Kim rode by about 30 seconds later, and Mdot girl was about a minute behind her. They rode off to talk about what a badass cyclist I am while I waited for Lorraine and Alisa.
We tore off down the hill and soon caught Kim and Mdot girl again. Next we had to climb an even longer hill that kept going up and up around every turn. At one point there was a hairpin turn and you could see all the cyclists climbing on the road directly above your head. It looked pretty damned steep. At the hairpin turn there was a roadie directing traffic, only letting us around the dangerous curve when there were no cars around. I had just barely dropped Mdot girl and Kim was still hanging on my wheel when we got to the stop sign. The roadie waved all three of us (and about 20 of our closest fat girl friends) through at the same time. I had barely clipped in again and reached a regular cadence when I pulled the harder gear trick again. I clicked the button, then clicked it again, stood up, and rode away hard. I dropped them before they even got started, and whenever they looked up the long straightaway up the hill they had to look at my pink dress among all the red ones disappearing off into the distance. I felt better now.
Lompoc, where the next camp was, is a typical steamy little town inland in southern California. It was bursting with strip malls and corporate chains, girls in shortshorts and skank tanks, and boys with big cars and floppy hair 'dos. In the local Walgreens there was a poster to vote for this year's senior beauty queen. You know, SoCal. But the PEOPLE in Lompoc were great! One woman had wanted to do the ride a year or two ago, but couldn't make it fit into her schedule. So instead of riding, she resolved to help the riders. She went to all the local businesses in Lompoc and asked for discounts for the riders. She ran off maps of town with all the businesses offering discounts highlighted and the companies who refused the discount blacked out. Then she went to the local car dealership and got them to donate their biggest cars for the night, and got her family and friends to drive those cars in a makeshift shuttle service. In each of the shopping centers in town she stationed high school cheerleaders in lawn chairs with cell phones and walkie talkies, and every time a group of cyclists needed a ride, they'd call one. All the cars and cheerleaders had tip cups to help buy the squad new supplies, and we were more than happy to give them generous tips. The drivers were a gregarious bunch. They couldn't wait to tell us all about Lompoc. There wasn't much to tell, but they kept talking anyway.
The camp site in Lompoc was famous for the ducks that would come into your tent if you left it open, and even attack you if there was food around. I was looking forward to maybe swimming in the duck pond, but once I got a good look at the stagnant water, I thought better of it. We went and found Meg and hung out for a bit while her friends showered. While we were waiting Meg told us her fantasy about being part of a harem. She had this idea that when the man wasn't around, it would be a giant X-rated movie with all the wives. "You know, you could just move into a sorority. It's like the same thing, but with more booze and without the husband," I suggested. She and Shane didn't seem to mind much that half the people in the F-section were listening in on our conversation, but it made me a little uncomfortable.
I've mentioned before that there was no privacy in the tents, whatever you talked about in your tent was everyone else's business. There was a whole crowd of people who wore Hillary t-shirts around camp. Hillary's campaign had officially rolled over and died a couple of days before in West Virginia, but the only people who didn't seem to know it yet were the Clintons and the riders on the AIDS LifeCycle who hadn't had access to a TV, radio, or newspaper in days. The night before, a couple of tents away from Meg, one of the Hillary legions was singing her praises over the phone. It was starting to bug Jessie (Meg's tentmate). Hillary this, and Hillary that. All she wanted to do was sleep. She'd had enough. The next time he said "Hillary" Jess said, "Obama!" in her best Mr. Subliminal voice.
The Hillary supporter paused for a second. Then he went right on talking. "Blah, blah, blah, Hillary..."
"Obama!"
"..." then, after a few seconds, "blah, blah, blah Hillary..."
"Ooooo-BAma!"
"..." ... "blah... blah, blah, blah Hillary..."
"oBAma!"
Shane and I had our own annoying neighbor story. Our neighbors on one side were really cool (a dude from Hawaii and a girl from one town over from me in Mass), but on the other side were a couple of girls who were AWFUL! Actually, one of them was awful. She talked incessantly, and the other girl didn't even respond to her. She was one of those people who could keep talking and talking and talking without affirmation for hours and think she'd just had a conversation. "He says he doesn't love me, but I know he loves me, my friends say that he totally loves me, he just doesn't know it yet, and I can totally tell from the way that he acts that he loves me and..." You know, that sort of thing. We didn't even know the other girl's voice. And this girl had sagged EVERY SINGLE DAY (or one of the girls had anyway, we assumed it was Monologue Girl, because she embodied all undesirable traits). The night before Shane had heard her say, "Yeah, I ride my bike everywhere. I've worn the crotch out on all my pants because I'm always riding my bike."
"And she's sagged every day!" Shane told Meg and her other tentmate, SJ (they decided to triple up), who was back from the shower now. "I ride my bike everywhere, and I haven't worn out the crotch on ANY of my pants."
And then I opened up my big mouth, "The reason that she's worn the crotch out of all her pants is because she's a FATASS!" Typical tactful Claire, but I know from experience. My inner-thigh fat wares through all my pants. Immediately I knew I shouldn't have said it. SJ is a big girl.
On the way to the shuttles Meg pulled me aside. "Can we keep the fat phobic comments out of it?"
"Fat phobic?!"
Alright, I'll admit it. I'm afraid of being fat. I think I might rather lose my left arm than be obese, but that's just me. I've had an eating disorder in the past, and I realize that this attitude is not necessarily healthy. I make a lot of fat jokes. It's impolite, and I hurt people's feelings and for that I am sincerely sorry. But still, the chick in the other tent WAS fat, and she HAD sagged every single day, and if all her pants were crotchless, it wasn't because she'd been riding her bike.
"You know," Meg chastised me, "for some people, it's not their fault that they're heavy."
I was ready to eat my hat. I HATE that defense. Yes, there are some people who have glandular problems, but those cases are extremely rare among the overweight and obese. If there's one thing I can't stand it's when girls sit there and have a "right on, sister" moment while bitching about how "unrealistic" magazine photos are, while they wolf down endless 1200-calorie hamburgers. Yes, anorexia and bulemia are horrible disorders, and I am all for discouraging them. It's a horrible way to live. But the REAL problem in this country is obesity. One in 1,000 teenage girls in America is anorexic. One in three people in the US is obese. So if there's one thing I can't stand, it's a group of fat girls sitting around saying that 5'4" women are SUPPOSED to weigh 170 lb, and that it's HEALTHY to have another slice of pizza, and exercising every day isn't healthy, and what is the media doing to our society?! This is why you are more likely to be fat if you have fat friends! And these are the same people who are all bitchy when you light up a cigarette in their same zip code.
It's simple biology. Your body is constantly trying to maintain homeostasis. If you have a glandular problem, your body is not maintaining homeostasis, and you will gain or lose a whole bunch of weight. But most overweight people are actually staying the same weight, because their body is maintaining homeostasis! They are simply putting in SO MANY CALORIES, that their bodies are able to maintain an extra 50 lb or so of adipose tissue. If they weren't eating so goddamn much, and eating so much shit, then they wouldn't be so fat. Period. And yes, each individual's metabolism is different. Mine is slow, other people's are fast, but if you don't eat too much food, then you won't become a fatass. And don't blame the media if you don't look like a model from a magazine, blame all those yahoos who are telling you that it's OKAY to be eating 2,500 calories a day if you're sedentary.
But I was overruled, and I sat there stewing at the all-you-can-eat pizza place getting seconds and thirds of salad after my 2 slices of pizza, while Meg and her friends wolfed down 5 or 6 pieces of pizza apiece and gushed about how much they LOVED food, and isn't it great being able to eat WHATEVER you want?! Don't get me started on people who think that exercise is an excuse to eat "whatever you want." Maybe I was getting a bit tired too. I was definitely getting cranky. I'd felt like I was hardly able to ride today, what with all the traffic in Santa María, stopping for half an hour at each rest stop, and only having ridden 45 miles. Everyone else might be tired and worn down, but I still felt great. The next day I was going to go out and REALLY ride on my own. I needed to get away from people. Especially the slower people at the back.
Total miles: 42.55
Time riding: 3:22:06
Average speed: 12.6 mph
"It's red!" I insisted. It's not totally by accident that I'm not in any of the pictures from red dress day. Hey, I was in a dress, wasn't I?!
Not my picture, but we were around this chick for the hours it took us to get out of Santa María.Finally we got out onto the road and started the SLOWING... STOPPING... SLOWING... STOPPING... ROL...STOPPING! routine. Since we were at the back of the pack, and since there were a lot of us, we had to go at a snail's pace through the eight million red lights in the town of Santa María. After about an hour and a half we were still in Santa María, we were still several miles from the first rest stop (at around 9.5 miles), and we all had to pee. We pulled off at a gas station and watched a man in a red dress walk into the bathroom and got in line behind him. About 5 minutes later we were still standing there. Clearly SOMEBODY was breaking Claire's No. 1 Rule of Public Pooping: Don't. "Fuck this, I'm going to the KFC across the street!" said Narine. Trish followed her.
Lorraine had a better idea. "Oh look! A car wash!" Alisa went in the bushes in the couple of feet between the car wash wall and a fence. Lorraine just walked right into the car wash. "It's got floor drains..." she said as she walked off.
"OH MY GOD! 1-1-1, GUYS!!!" I yelled from my place in line for the bathroom. When Lorraine and Alisa came out from their hiding places in the car wash Lorraine said, "Oh my god, you're still here?!" I made them wait another minute or two for the guy in the bathroom to come out. Then I did my business, we picked up Narine and Trish from the KFC, and resumed our SLOWING and STOPPING.
Stragglers in bike parking. This photo does it no justice.After what felt like an eternity we hit the bottom of a long climb and were able to actually INCREASE our average speed by passing people on the way up the hill. I rode on ahead, and then waited for the rest of the Old Ladies at the top. This time I'd learned my lesson and stopped a few feet before the crest so that they wouldn't be going 35 mph yet while I was still re-mounting my bike. Before long Alisa and Lorraine turned up and I hopped in right behind them. When we hit the downhill we all stood up and hunched down into a crouch over our handlebars. I was 3 feet behind Alisa and her ass hanging out in those shiny hotpants and fishnet tights.
"ALISA! THIS IS THE BEST VIEW I'VE HAD ALL WEEK!" I yelled.
"WHAT?!" she yelled over her shoulder.
I rode up next to her and gave her a light tap on the butt. I repeated my comment. "Man, you gotta hit it harder, girl! I could hardly feel that one!" she said. So for the rest of the day I tried to get a good smack in. It's harder than it looks on a moving target. Each time she would say it was lacking something. Finally, about half way though the ride I got a good one on an uphill. My bike handling skills got much better over the course of the week. I was hitting nearly all my targets in the butt-poking game too.
We stopped at the second rest stop, which was the main street in a town of about 6 people called Casmalia. It was one of those towns made up of one poorly-paved road with a general store/post office with about as many square feet as my bedroom, and a house. In Casmalia every year they threw a dance party for us, and Lorraine had been looking forward to it for days. "Are you going to dance?!" she asked.
I don't dance.
We stood in the long line for the bathrooms, and decided to pass on the long lines for snacks. Man, showing up at the end of the pack sucked. When we went to try to start dancing (or in my case, watch the dancing), though, no one was dancing. Trish and Narine were over it and rode off. Alisa and Lorraine wiggled their butts for a couple of beats before the roadies started coming through and threatening to sag anyone who wasn't out in 5 minutes again. As we were leaving we found Kim and Mdot girl. They were not wearing dresses, pink or otherwise. Mdot girl had even foregone her red Mdot jersey for a green one from Ironman 70.3 California.
There were a couple of reasons why Day 4 was short. One was for it to be a rest day, but the other was because this was the day with the most significant hills. Coming out of Casmalia, we started climbing right away. I told Lorraine I'd see her soon and moved out to the left to pass all the fat girls in red dresses. I swear, the ride was 75% male, and all the females must have been in the back 26% of the pack. It was a pretty sad day for feminism seeing all those girls in their dresses climbing the hill at about 3 mph. I moved out to the left and started chanting "On your left" every other pedal stroke. Kim and Mdot girl were ahead of me coming up the hill. I passed them and they got in behind me. Oh no you don't! I thought. This was my chance to prove my salt after their slighte about the marathon the night before. I started powering up the hill. After a minute or so I stopped hearing Mdot girl calling out. I'd dropped her, but Kim was still there. Well, if Kim kept up with me, then Mdot girl would have no way of knowing how strong I was. Kim had to drop back and TELL Mdot girl what a badass cyclist I was. I surged. I couldn't drop Kim. Then I tried something that I'd read about, but never thought possible. "See you at the top!" I said and clicked up to a harder gear, stood up, and rode away. I stayed in that gear for about a minute, and when I dropped back down to an easier gear, Kim was gone. Ha! I'd done it. I rode hard to the top of the hill to make sure I'd gotten my breath back by the time Kim and Mdot girl showed up. Kim rode by about 30 seconds later, and Mdot girl was about a minute behind her. They rode off to talk about what a badass cyclist I am while I waited for Lorraine and Alisa.
We tore off down the hill and soon caught Kim and Mdot girl again. Next we had to climb an even longer hill that kept going up and up around every turn. At one point there was a hairpin turn and you could see all the cyclists climbing on the road directly above your head. It looked pretty damned steep. At the hairpin turn there was a roadie directing traffic, only letting us around the dangerous curve when there were no cars around. I had just barely dropped Mdot girl and Kim was still hanging on my wheel when we got to the stop sign. The roadie waved all three of us (and about 20 of our closest fat girl friends) through at the same time. I had barely clipped in again and reached a regular cadence when I pulled the harder gear trick again. I clicked the button, then clicked it again, stood up, and rode away hard. I dropped them before they even got started, and whenever they looked up the long straightaway up the hill they had to look at my pink dress among all the red ones disappearing off into the distance. I felt better now.
Lompoc, where the next camp was, is a typical steamy little town inland in southern California. It was bursting with strip malls and corporate chains, girls in shortshorts and skank tanks, and boys with big cars and floppy hair 'dos. In the local Walgreens there was a poster to vote for this year's senior beauty queen. You know, SoCal. But the PEOPLE in Lompoc were great! One woman had wanted to do the ride a year or two ago, but couldn't make it fit into her schedule. So instead of riding, she resolved to help the riders. She went to all the local businesses in Lompoc and asked for discounts for the riders. She ran off maps of town with all the businesses offering discounts highlighted and the companies who refused the discount blacked out. Then she went to the local car dealership and got them to donate their biggest cars for the night, and got her family and friends to drive those cars in a makeshift shuttle service. In each of the shopping centers in town she stationed high school cheerleaders in lawn chairs with cell phones and walkie talkies, and every time a group of cyclists needed a ride, they'd call one. All the cars and cheerleaders had tip cups to help buy the squad new supplies, and we were more than happy to give them generous tips. The drivers were a gregarious bunch. They couldn't wait to tell us all about Lompoc. There wasn't much to tell, but they kept talking anyway.
The camp site in Lompoc was famous for the ducks that would come into your tent if you left it open, and even attack you if there was food around. I was looking forward to maybe swimming in the duck pond, but once I got a good look at the stagnant water, I thought better of it. We went and found Meg and hung out for a bit while her friends showered. While we were waiting Meg told us her fantasy about being part of a harem. She had this idea that when the man wasn't around, it would be a giant X-rated movie with all the wives. "You know, you could just move into a sorority. It's like the same thing, but with more booze and without the husband," I suggested. She and Shane didn't seem to mind much that half the people in the F-section were listening in on our conversation, but it made me a little uncomfortable.I've mentioned before that there was no privacy in the tents, whatever you talked about in your tent was everyone else's business. There was a whole crowd of people who wore Hillary t-shirts around camp. Hillary's campaign had officially rolled over and died a couple of days before in West Virginia, but the only people who didn't seem to know it yet were the Clintons and the riders on the AIDS LifeCycle who hadn't had access to a TV, radio, or newspaper in days. The night before, a couple of tents away from Meg, one of the Hillary legions was singing her praises over the phone. It was starting to bug Jessie (Meg's tentmate). Hillary this, and Hillary that. All she wanted to do was sleep. She'd had enough. The next time he said "Hillary" Jess said, "Obama!" in her best Mr. Subliminal voice.The Hillary supporter paused for a second. Then he went right on talking. "Blah, blah, blah, Hillary..."
"Obama!"
"..." then, after a few seconds, "blah, blah, blah Hillary..."
"Ooooo-BAma!"
"..." ... "blah... blah, blah, blah Hillary..."
"oBAma!"
Shane and I had our own annoying neighbor story. Our neighbors on one side were really cool (a dude from Hawaii and a girl from one town over from me in Mass), but on the other side were a couple of girls who were AWFUL! Actually, one of them was awful. She talked incessantly, and the other girl didn't even respond to her. She was one of those people who could keep talking and talking and talking without affirmation for hours and think she'd just had a conversation. "He says he doesn't love me, but I know he loves me, my friends say that he totally loves me, he just doesn't know it yet, and I can totally tell from the way that he acts that he loves me and..." You know, that sort of thing. We didn't even know the other girl's voice. And this girl had sagged EVERY SINGLE DAY (or one of the girls had anyway, we assumed it was Monologue Girl, because she embodied all undesirable traits). The night before Shane had heard her say, "Yeah, I ride my bike everywhere. I've worn the crotch out on all my pants because I'm always riding my bike."
"And she's sagged every day!" Shane told Meg and her other tentmate, SJ (they decided to triple up), who was back from the shower now. "I ride my bike everywhere, and I haven't worn out the crotch on ANY of my pants."
And then I opened up my big mouth, "The reason that she's worn the crotch out of all her pants is because she's a FATASS!" Typical tactful Claire, but I know from experience. My inner-thigh fat wares through all my pants. Immediately I knew I shouldn't have said it. SJ is a big girl.
On the way to the shuttles Meg pulled me aside. "Can we keep the fat phobic comments out of it?"
"Fat phobic?!"
Alright, I'll admit it. I'm afraid of being fat. I think I might rather lose my left arm than be obese, but that's just me. I've had an eating disorder in the past, and I realize that this attitude is not necessarily healthy. I make a lot of fat jokes. It's impolite, and I hurt people's feelings and for that I am sincerely sorry. But still, the chick in the other tent WAS fat, and she HAD sagged every single day, and if all her pants were crotchless, it wasn't because she'd been riding her bike.
"You know," Meg chastised me, "for some people, it's not their fault that they're heavy."
I was ready to eat my hat. I HATE that defense. Yes, there are some people who have glandular problems, but those cases are extremely rare among the overweight and obese. If there's one thing I can't stand it's when girls sit there and have a "right on, sister" moment while bitching about how "unrealistic" magazine photos are, while they wolf down endless 1200-calorie hamburgers. Yes, anorexia and bulemia are horrible disorders, and I am all for discouraging them. It's a horrible way to live. But the REAL problem in this country is obesity. One in 1,000 teenage girls in America is anorexic. One in three people in the US is obese. So if there's one thing I can't stand, it's a group of fat girls sitting around saying that 5'4" women are SUPPOSED to weigh 170 lb, and that it's HEALTHY to have another slice of pizza, and exercising every day isn't healthy, and what is the media doing to our society?! This is why you are more likely to be fat if you have fat friends! And these are the same people who are all bitchy when you light up a cigarette in their same zip code.
It's simple biology. Your body is constantly trying to maintain homeostasis. If you have a glandular problem, your body is not maintaining homeostasis, and you will gain or lose a whole bunch of weight. But most overweight people are actually staying the same weight, because their body is maintaining homeostasis! They are simply putting in SO MANY CALORIES, that their bodies are able to maintain an extra 50 lb or so of adipose tissue. If they weren't eating so goddamn much, and eating so much shit, then they wouldn't be so fat. Period. And yes, each individual's metabolism is different. Mine is slow, other people's are fast, but if you don't eat too much food, then you won't become a fatass. And don't blame the media if you don't look like a model from a magazine, blame all those yahoos who are telling you that it's OKAY to be eating 2,500 calories a day if you're sedentary.
But I was overruled, and I sat there stewing at the all-you-can-eat pizza place getting seconds and thirds of salad after my 2 slices of pizza, while Meg and her friends wolfed down 5 or 6 pieces of pizza apiece and gushed about how much they LOVED food, and isn't it great being able to eat WHATEVER you want?! Don't get me started on people who think that exercise is an excuse to eat "whatever you want." Maybe I was getting a bit tired too. I was definitely getting cranky. I'd felt like I was hardly able to ride today, what with all the traffic in Santa María, stopping for half an hour at each rest stop, and only having ridden 45 miles. Everyone else might be tired and worn down, but I still felt great. The next day I was going to go out and REALLY ride on my own. I needed to get away from people. Especially the slower people at the back.
Total miles: 42.55Time riding: 3:22:06
Average speed: 12.6 mph
2 comments:
Sadly I tend to be one of those people that splurges a little on the food due to exercise ( I've probably gained 5 lbs. on my rest week.) but irregardless, good post, climbing in a dress now that's bad ass!
Bummer no pics of you in the pink dress. I'm surprised that you didn't do a micro-stop at a rest stop so you could power on ahead and not get caught up with so many people
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