Forget chocolate. I’m having a Big Mac (not really). Today is my anniversary of when I started on my journey back to fitness. One year ago I weighed 220 pounds and had done one 10 mile ride in the previous 18 months. 365 days and a few thousand miles later, I’m down to 155. To put that in perspective, I went through high school at 165. I’m still dropping and figure I can go another 5 pounds before calling it good. That 65 pound loss works out to the caloric equivalent of around 500 Big Macs.

It’s been quite a journey. I’m pretty astonished that I had so much to lose, but am soooo glad I’ve finally done it. I feel like ‘me’ again. I’m wearing size medium shirts (not since 9th grade). Pretty crazy… Cycling definitely agrees with me!! It was very cool to wrap up training camp yesterday and reflect on how far I have come. I wouldn’t have been able to follow those guys around the block a year ago, and yesterday I came home with 3 trophies. Pretty sweet indeed.

When someone I haven’t seen in a while first catches sight of me, the reaction is pretty dramatic. Invariably, they get around to asking how I lost the weight – their first question always seems to be ‘were you sick’? I don’t think I look sick, but I guess they’re searching for something to explain such a BIG difference. I can’t easily answer how I did it. It’s a combination of things. I worked less, I rode. I rode a LOT. I stopped drinking soda. Breakfast used to be a 44oz Pepsi and a Twix. No more. I eat about 1/3 of what I used to, and the quality of food I eat is infinitely better. Last summer I would get up early and head out on a 5 hour ride with nothing to eat at least once a week. I wouldn’t recommend that approach for the ‘low-carb’ crowd, but it worked for me because I had years of riding experience to draw upon. Also, I wasn’t training for racing at the time.

I visualized being in a boxing ring with the weight I had to lose. All of the other diets would have you sit down for a tea party with fine china, or otherwise tiptoe through the tulips on your way to weight loss. I didn’t have time for that crap. I pictured myself as Mike Tyson. Ugly. Mean. Tattoos. Gap teeth. B-A-D. Staring down the quivering mass of fat. In the fight of my life. Hitting, kicking, tearing, biting, POUNDING that weight to a pulp. Full-on Kumite. Making it beg for mercy before it shrunk away, out of the ring. Never to be heard from again. My arms held up in victory. Take that, Atkins.