I'm not an athlete...I want to be one. Growing up, I was that skinny little dork kid who was in chorus, played piano, was in the band, read everything I could get my hands on and was in theater. Or as I like to call it, completely invisible to any of the cool kids and ALL of the girls.
My sophomore year of high school I found the football team and the weight room. I was taken aback at how I could see change, in the mirror as I got stronger...and as I got noticed. My parents bought me my first bike (a Giant RS940 which I held onto into my late 20's and I still regret selling) then too. Cycling offered up a whole new world to me. I didn't have to be dependent on anyone, it was just me and the bike. It was then that I fell in love with cycling. I joined a local cycling club and then got involved in the local racing scene. I showed promise as a young cyclist and had aspirations of becoming the next Bernard Hinault or Laurent Fignon (look 'em up and remember I am French after all) and later Greg Lemond but my parents thought an education and a "stable" job were more important life pursuits. Enter the Army and college.
Due to a career ending injury (a misdiagnosed broken ankle, originally called a severe sprain, that I continued to train and run on for months until I killed the bone tissue) my time as a Soldier came to an abrupt end. Now, because of an active lifestyle and quick recovery time, I could (and did) eat anything I wanted. I LOVE food. My mom is a great French cook and my father (a dyed in the wool Georgia boy who could give Paula Dean a run for her money) introduced me to chocolate and butter. Which to be honest, is the staple to making any recipe better. However, the lengthy recovery from the ankle in addition to my continued eating like it was the Apocalypse, led to me throwing on the pounds. And...the additional pounds aggravated the pain I'd been suffering in my lower back for a couple years. It got so bad that I had difficulty getting out of bed on my own. That resulted in trips back the docs for x-rays, MRIs and analysis...which, led to my finding out that the pain I'd been feeling all this time was due an undiagnosed broken back and pelvis (L4, L5 and S1) that had healed incorrectly. Now, I have a lot of people tell me they have no idea how I could've dealt with that but let me tell you that, a: I have a high tolerance for pain and b: (and most importantly) there is no such thing as being pain free when your job is to be an Infantrymen. That job makes you do things to your body that it was never meant to do...and that results in pain...daily and often. But you're taught to "suck it up and drive on". I mean where else are you expected to throw yourself out of an airplane, strike the ground at roughly 22 feet per second, wearing in excess of 100 pounds of gear and then walk under that load for 6-10 miles, to THEN attack the enemy?
|Yup, that's me.|
That led me to some doing some research into my options and getting in touch with some great doctors which included my favorite that told me "well, if you weren't so fat, you're back wouldn't hurt so much. You could spend time in the gym strengthening your core and that would help support your spinal column. You're too young and if you fuze your spine now, you're likely to have to continue it over time." You know what? He was absolutely right and that was just the kind of kick in the butt I needed. Unfortunately I went about my weight loss all wrong with a routine of ephedrine, a restricted calorie diet and excessive amounts of working out. I shrank to 158 pounds. That weight, on my 5'10" frame made me look like gaunt. Ya, I was thin and relatively pain free but I was nowhere near healthy nor living a healthy life. And of course, led me to falling off the wagon and start putting weight back on again...swelling back up to 198 pounds. Sure, I was down from the 245 but I was still overweight and looked like crap...and the cycle started all over again.
|Photo from a recent race, weighing 170lbs|