Where did my G get to?

 

Where is the G?

 

It’s still right there, except now it’s a g.

 

What does that mean?  If you’ve been reading my blog from day one and have a good memory you’ll already know the answer.  For the rest of you, it means a small miracle.  Read on.

 

Here is how I came to be big.

 

My name is big mike.  That name will never change, it’s been with my since I was about 13 years old.  It got attached to me because I was big.  Portly, pudgy, rotund.  I started bike racing at 14 years of age and was a lean bundle of muscle at 16 years old, but the name stuck.

 

I am now 38 years old.  In the second half of 2005 I was 126 kilograms, more than 50 kilograms overweight.  If you live in a non-metric country, 50 kilograms is 110 pounds.  That was when I created this blogging persona.  I called myself BIG Mike.  The capital BIG was to emphasise the big.  The capital M was just good form and structure. 

 

Then I started thinking seriously about getting back to near my 1980’s racing weight of 73 kilograms.  I attached an arbitrary value to the capital letters.  There were 4 capitals and 50 kilograms.  50 kilograms to lose divided by 4 letters is 12.5 kilograms per capital.  Starting from 126 kilograms, my 2005 peak in early December, 113.5 kilograms is the drop off point for the first capital.  Presto.  I changed the G to a g early this week.  The day the scales show me 101kg I’ll convert myself to Big Mike.  88.5kg = big Mike.  76kg is scheduled to arrive before Easter 2007 yielding big mike, the supreme athlete.

 

The goal I set in my revolution stands.  From 1 January 2006, I will lose 1 kilogram per week for 6 months, then 0.75kg per week for 3 months and 0.5kg for 3 months which should put me at 80kg for Christmas.  And perfectly timed… 76kg at the end of February 2007 coinciding with the State Track Championships.  Racing weight for the big race.  Who could ask for more?

 

Speaking of the Revolution

 

It’s near enough to the end of the week to expose the dismal outcome.  15 points.  15 points is not 16 points, the ordained minimum to avoid social purgatory.  Officially I should begin cultivating mutton chop side burns.  Officially.  But I claim a mulligan.  There was a cyclone (hurricane) cruising past 500km (300mi) off the coast and we were experiencing the kind of weather that makes it difficult to keep a car on the road, let alone a bike.

 

I rode the bike for an hour this afternoon so all is beginning to get back to normal.  And I still lost weight for the week so I’ll consider myself adequately restrained, and start afresh tomorrow.

 

 

Food for thought…

I’m sick of following my dreams. I’m just going to ask them where they’re going and hook up with them later. – Mitch Hedberg