Trigger (heh) Warning: This post isn’t for weak-kneed, lilly-livered whiners. It isn’t for diaper wetters who would rather sit in a pissed-in diaper than change it. This is a post for big boys and girls. Buck up, camper. I do apoligize for the title. It’s click-bait. You have been Trigger (heh) Warned.
F@CK! I know a guy. Dude is fat, lazy, full of excuses. He’s a pretty great person and he is going to die soon. His body is starting to shut down on him.
I’ve wanted to shake him violently and slap him a few times when he got into the excuses. He suffered under the delusion that going for a walk or a bike ride would hurt, all the while I knew the truth: Laying on my fat ass for a few weeks hurts way worse than it does ten minutes after a sub-five hour hundred miles… and for those who don’t know, that hurts.
My friends, a friend I ride with rode through chemotherapy. He said it was the only thing that made the nausea tolerable. He wasn’t fast, but he was out there.
Another friend of mine was riding on his trainer six weeks after open heart surgery. Two weeks after that he was on the road holding a 16 mph average on beta blockers.
Another friend was out mowing lawns with a push mower days after having a pacemaker installed in his chest.
I fell at work Tuesday. I landed on my ankle after a 1-1/2 foot drop… Not on the side of my foot, I landed on my ankle and the outside of my foot. One of those stupid things – I should have been paying better attention and a temporary ramp should have been built. There shouldn’t have been a drop-off. That said, my ankle crumpled and I ended up on the concrete on my back. I tried to walk it off, covering three miles on site before heading home to ice it. I took yesterday off the bike (not work) and I’ll be riding again later today. I have a 50 mile ride tomorrow that I won’t miss because it’ll be raining Saturday and snowing Sunday. Trainer days.
I found this photo in a post:
Thinking about a plan also does no good at keeping my ass thin and out of a doctor’s office. Action does.
Ladies and gentlemen, the guy with the pacemaker once told me (shortly after the operation), “It’s real easy to talk tough about dying… till the bus shows up”. This encapsulates the insidious nature of obesity.
Get out the f@ckin’ door.
And if you’re one of those made to sit through those donut shop lies, don’t. Reject them for the bullshit they are. Chances are, someone you give a shit about’s life depends on it. Literally. You won’t be liked… Until your liar sees the light and thanks you for being an asshole. Trust me.
Sorry. I miss having my platform a lot more than I thought I would.