The Cyclist

She rode for an amateur women's mountain bike team. She even had a spread, a modest one, in a sexy team calendar. I was driving down the road today and caught a glimpse of her. It has been two years since I said goodbye. Yeah, I was only one of the many to see her go to another job, but she was nice, a friend to me when I wasn't feeling very attractive. It meant a lot to me.

She now rides for a true professional team. I'm sure she's made up with her ex-fiance and is now married. She wasn't leggy, even for a cyclist. Pretty damn trim. Probably one of the best fit women I've ever seen. She always looked like a woman no matter how hard she was training. She kept her light brown hair long, which I like: sometimes up in a sexy twist, or Indian braids. She rode GT's. That is pretty damn sexy.

I remember telling me about her childhood racing horses in steeple chase events in Illinois. She won a championship at 14. Damn, she was a competitor. Still is, I guess. I looked up her finishing results, after I had my little blast from the past today. Mostly top tens in the first part of the season, but lately has had some DNF's and places in the 30s and 40s.

I don't know where to start. I met her when I was a total fat fuck--my words, my explanation....don't get offended. Before that came to pass, I was that guy who hiked it, biked it, skied it either downhill or cross-country. I was still a big boy, but a trim healthy one. Somewhere along the way of having setbacks, family trials, watching my friends get married and move on to successful careers, I got lost...and morbidly destitute in spirit. I don't think I can really explain the details here, or to anyone, really. I will say that, in the end, I restored my integrity and my sense of morality. I didn't cross any lines that couldn't be uncrossed. I think that I have pretty much left out the last sixish years to those that I have talked to here. I just make like I stopped at 2000 and started back up at late 2005--that was that. If I can't be honest, then I just won't talk.

I finished school, but was hell-bent on exploding in that vacuum of isolation and prison of self destructive behavior. I thought that going back into religion would fix me and it seemed to only set me in strange patterns of "good/bad" cycles. I immersed myself in learning electronic theory. I was buying bulk obsolete semiconductors for awhile and trying to resell them on Ebay in smaller lots for a higher price. I just ended up walling myself in with creation after creation. I ate and ate, didn't go out much. I ballooned to 260 pounds. I was a fat fucking mess of a man. I shut myself off from friends. It was horrible.

I should have sought help, but I didn't. I was a psychology graduate (B.S.), had taken my GRE and made good scores. I applied for graduate programs and got to a final interview at one school. It was in that interview that my faith in psychologists and psychology was shot to hell for a time. I was told by this professor that she knew my "type", she was trained to see this--like it was a bad thing--all while I was making this Hail Mary pass for my life. I was right in the middle of destroying myself and took a chance to make an improvement. This lady never sought to help, only to make my fault shine like a fucking chromed lump of shit. I called her a stuffed shirt and that pretty much blew that interview. Hey, at least I was an alternate for a few months. Besides, they picked only five out of 160. I should've given myself more credit for making it as far as I did, considering. I didn't, however.

I thought that whatever "type" I was, I wasn't going to let anyone touch me. If they were going to ridicule me, which is what I thought, I would either just quit life or fix myself. So, I started to fix myself.

My first attempts were pretty undisciplined. I just tried the self analyzing. Too subjective, you can't make a proper diagnoses this way, not what's going on in your head. I coasted for a year. That is when I was called on some jobs that took me to the occupational therapy suite. It was there that I met a pretty girl. Yeah, her, the cyclist. She was the type of girl that I would see on the trails when I was that young buck rider. I felt self conscious and ashamed at first around her. I don't know why. I guess I felt like she'd never see that former "me" that would have had so much in common with her. I was thinking that she would pretty much laugh me off, or think I was a creep if I started talking shop--noticing all the bike paraphenalia--like I just picked up on whatever just to bug a cute girl. I mean, would she believe this fat fuck? Yeah, it turns out she did, and she was impressed with my little stories of certain trails and trips. Hell, she even took some of my trail advice. I don't think she ever knew how much this all meant to me. I felt like a man again, and more importantly, human.

I was always a bit shy. Having to look at myself all distorted, distended, and bloated, I couldn't quite muster up enough to ask her out. I did get to flirt again. I'll tell you, that was nice. She was involved, anyway, but I couldn't help but hope. I always made comments on her hair, and she would change it up for me so I could see what she looked like in different styles. When her team's calendar came out, I got one. Man, she photographed well. I was lust struck. I was also heart broken when she quit to pursue her pro mountain bike career, taking part-time work in that locale.

Whatever the case, I was different after meeting her. No steamy sex, or make out sessions, but I just felt valued again. As part of the self therapy I came up with, I made some cards with specific statements on each one. I have read these to myself each morning and night since about that time. I won't go into what the cards say, but I have been on the steady up and up since. No more of those dreaded "rope flashes".

Since blogging, I have met some very special people. I have had some ups, downs, heartaches, and lessons learned, but these people have helped me out big time, too. They have been those people that give out Gatorade at certain points of a marathon. This particular marathon is not over, but their Gatorade to me came at the right time, just as Jennifer's did. Oh yeah, that's her name.

I don't seem to be able to own much of any of these friends. I have to cherish what I have and just let it be. That is the hardest part for me because I never forget or completely let go of people. It seems easy for them to do so and I admire that--I wish I were more capable and could move on easier. I'm getting better at it, I suppose.

Back to today: So, I decided to not be creepy and try to pull over and stop Jenny while she was training. I didn't even know if she would recognize me, now that I am trim. I wonder what she would have thought? I guess I won't know. Hell, I don't even know what she was doing down here in the first place. Maybe I'll see her around. I'm getting my bike tuned and ready.

(Note: I don't recommend anybody take the course that I chose to take care of my issues. Just do yourself a favor and get counseling. As for me, I guess I am both smart, blessed, and lucky to have this thing work for me--I am an exception.)