22 Stone Cyclist

I am in the fortunate position of having 2 extremely important days in July. The first, my birthday, is the 4th of July (so any gifts of carbon fibre or Oakley branded products will be gratefully received). However, a more important date to me is the day after, the 5th of July.

The 5th of July is the day I finally had my wake up call. It was during last year’s holiday to Florida whilst showering, I found a lump on my testicle. The resulting worrying all but spoilt our family holiday, and I promised myself that if it turned out to be nothing sinister, that I would change my life. I had struggled with my weight all my life, and the best I had ever achieved was a yo-yo effect between heavy and super heavy, and now was the time to do something about it.

The doctor confirmed the lump was only a cyst, but the psychological seed had been planted. I had been reading Lance Armstrong’s “It’s not about the bike” whilst on holiday, and had decided if this guy can survive all sorts of cancer and win the Tour de France 7 times, then I can lose a few stone.

Despite my enormous weight, historically I was no stranger to sport. Throughout my life, I had played many sports. At school, I had been a serious rugby player. At 9, I was picked to play prop forward for the “Colts” rugby team my school, Witham Hall. The first match was against St Hughs, I got in a fight, and I was not picked again. Aged 12 at the same school, I enjoyed a strong season in the 2nd team. Witham Hall was only a small school, and despite my best efforts, I never made the breakthrough into the 1st team. I also had my first road bike – an MBK Super Mistral, which being French fell apart. During the summer term, athletics was the sport of choice. My large build made me ideal for the shot and discuss, and thanks to a 100 metres time of 14 seconds, I finished 4th in the school’s pentathlon.

Moving up to grammar school, I had developed both physically and mentally. Giggleswick School was a rugby school, not in the sense that it would offer scholarships to the more promising players like other schools do, but rugby was definitely the school’s main sport. After struggling at Witham, I was surprised when I was first choice prop for both the U14 and U15 teams. In my third year, I played for the 2nd team, followed by being 1st choice prop in the 1st XV for the last 2 years. I also played all 3 representative matches for the U16 North Yorkshire Schoolboy XV. I continued to throw discuss and shot, and won both events in my senior year.

Around about this time, mountain biking was taking off in the UK. Steel framed Marins, Oranges and Konas were all the rage, and for Christmas my mum and dad bought me a Marin Bear Valley. It was built from Tange chromoly tubing with a Shimano 400LX groupset. I wasn’t very good at it, I was the wrong build and no one at school wanted to ride with me. Still I kept at it, and eventually upgraded to a funky looking Saracen with elevated chainstays and Magura hydraulic brakes.

Leaving Giggleswick, I played some rugby matches for both Huddersfield Waterloo and Huddersfield University, before finally calling a day on rugby. It turns out that being good in school doesn’t mean you’ll be good at club level, and I struggled to hold down a place in Huddersfield’s 3rd team. The one time I made the 2nd team due to injuries and illness, I was completely out of my depth and didn’t enjoy it.

I knew that cycling was a sport I was very much in love with, tearing up the West Yorkshire countryside on a Cannondale hard tail with Manitou suspension forks that I had built up. I even raced a couple of times. However, the cycling too stopped, as I discovered beer and partying at university.

Back to the present day, and I knew that if I was going to lose weight, it would have to be a sustainable healthy eating plan coupled to an exercise regime that would fit in with my lifestyle. I had loved my cycling once before, and after reading, “It’s not about the bike”, and watching Carlos Sastre romp up the Alpe d’Huez, the bug had bitten (again).

The rest is history.

So here I sit, nearly a year on, over 5 stone lighter, in Florida again reading yet another Lance Armstrong book, “Lance”, waiting eagerly for the start of this year’s Tour de France where the man himself will be racing. Last year, I had been eating pretty much what I wanted. My “eureka” moment hadn’t happened yet. This year, I’m trying to be better with my food. It’s important for me to remember that I am on holiday, and a little of what I like isn’t going to hurt that much, as whatever I put on I know I will lose once I am back on the bike again in a weeks time. One thing’s for sure, I feel fat and bloated for the first time in ages. My stomach is playing havoc with me, and I’m fairly certain I will have put on some weight over here. The problem is, out here everything is fattening. They put sugar in the bread, AND the coleslaw. The portions are all huge, even what they call a “regular”. There is a McDonalds, Burger King, Checkers, Wendy’s or a KFC on literally every street corner. Everything comes with fries. Everything comes lathered in a sauce, dressing or with a dip. Milk comes in a gallon bottle. The 7Eleven sells individual fizzy drinks in 2 litre cups. Fast food is cheap. Everything here is about convenience. For example, all cars are automatic – these guys can’t even be bothered to use a gear stick! There is absolutely no wonder that some of the people out here are truly enormous, and that the country has a massive problem with obesity. Don’t think I am having a dig at the US, because I’m not – I genuinely love coming here. My worry is as the UK becomes more and more like the US, our problem with obesity is sure to follow suit (and is already doing so).

On July 4th, I’ll be eating pretty much what I damn well want. It’s my birthday, and I’ll be hoping to go for a Tex Mex. But on the 5th, I’ll be eating healthy (as healthy as possible here). The 5th will be a celebration of the day I got my life back – the day I decided to call time on obesity and the illnesses and complications it can lead to. If July 4th is my birthday, July 5th is my re-birthday.

My only hope is that others follow suit, that they find the inspiration from whatever source to have their very own re-birthday. I hope they discover the exhilaration of taking part in a sport they truly love, or the contentment of watching the numbers on the scales get smaller and smaller.

So whilst those who know me will more than likely want to wish me a happy birthday, I’d rather you didn’t. Wish me a happy re-birthday instead.

This entry was posted on Friday, July 3rd, 2009 at 3:58 am and is filed under General. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. You can leave a response, or trackback from your own site.