I’m going to start this by saying that I’m not exactly an “old” dad, but I’m well on my way to being an old dad. We had our first kid when I was 35. To say that I was wildly unprepared is an understatement. I had no idea. To make matters worse, as part of the pregnancy, I matched my wife pound for pound as she gained weight. The difference is that she would lose most of that weight when the baby came, me not so much.
On my 30th birthday I decided that getting a physical was the responsible thing to do as a new dad. I had to stop living like I was a 20 year old college kid living out of my car… During the physical the doctor asked why I was there, other than being fat. I was taken back. I knew I had a few extra lbs, but having not stepped on a scale in years I had no idea. I was packing at least 45 extra pounds. Yes 45 extra pounds. I was 230lbs and while I am on the tall side, I WAS fat.
In my early 20’s I wore a number of bicycles out. I was single and didn’t have anything better to do, so I rode. A lot. A whole lot. Like 350 to 400 miles a week. With a number of long forgotten miles on my legs I figured cycling was a good place to start trying to drop a few lbs. I did it. I’m now hovering right around 180lbs.
The natural progression in cycling is racing, so here I am entering my 3rd season of being back on a bike and planning my racing year. Somehow it’s a way to justify all the hours and miles on a bike. That’s where this story begins. Well sorta, but we’ll get there…