dparsons21

While Im licking my wounds and scrounging up parts to fix my roadie (more like saving the money.) I sometimes get to feeling like a slouch, in better terms, I sometimes need a pick-me-up. This happened a lot before I really got into biking. I read a book called "Heft on Wheels." Its about a man turning forty, overweight, out of shape, alcoholic, smoker, and finally seeing his frayed way of life. His story is written from his mind as he is going through this transformation from the first time he buys a bike and joins a group ride; to the time he won his first race. He shares all of his feelings and emotions through the entire proccess of losing 85 pounds and turning his life around through road biking. Great story, really got me motivated to get my arse in gear.
So share with me and others on what books, movies, songs, etc etc that gets you going, or that might have turned your life around. Share your own stories as well, as that is my motivation.

Daniel

Griffish

Hey Daniel, I was also inspired by that book. In fact I emailed Mike Magnuson and thanked him for the experience (much like my own). He emailed me right back encouraging me to keep going. As far as inspiration goes, well I'm just tired of being fat and always worrying about my health. I lost my youngest brother recently and vowed that I would find a way to not repeat his story. He is my inspiration. So happens that I love cycling and this is my way out. I am just looking to get healthy at this point, but who knows maybe someday I will be thin and proud to wear these clown clothes they call cycle wear Good luck friend.
Griff

Neil_B

Even better, and certainly more amusing, is The Memory of Running, a comic novel about a fat guy who, by accident, starts riding across the US. The book reminds me of the film Forrest Gump, both because the protagonist is so clueless and the book's humor is so good-natured. The author either knows bikes or did his research very well; for instance, the route the protagonist takes in Eastern PA follows PA state bike routes.

dparsons21

I wil try to find that one historien, thanks.

Mazama

The thought of getting diabetes, back problems or heart disease usually gets me going.

Reading threads on here in the morning are also quite motivational!

Neil_B

While in The Memory of Running the bike takes a back seat, so to speak, to the story of a middle-aged fat smoker finding himself and haplessly exercising his demons, there are some wonderful descriptive passages. The protagonist Smithy Ide describes his bike after one mishap:

"My Raleigh leaned on its kickstand next to the stove. It was oiled and polished, and there were two new tires on it. Also large saddlebags over the back. Some player and his pop had taken the fat man's bike home and fixed it up and put on red nylon saddlebags.... I ate standing, because even though I was old and fat, I was excited to try a Raleigh that now seemed like a new Raleigh.... They had raised the seat a little and the handlebars, too, so when I pedaled, my legs extended all the way in a full, natural circle. The bike whirred, and the smoothness of the braking was exhilarating. My bike was the best bike ever."

The book had an interesting publication history. It was first available as an audiobook, read by the author Ron McLarty. McLarty is an actor who has appeared regularly on television programs such as Law and Order. Novelist Stephen King heard it and his advocacy on behalf of the author led to a print publication. King showed good judgment in his enthusiasm; the book is marvelously readable, and the author rarely makes a wrong pedal, err, pen stroke.

Wogster

Speaking of wrong pen strokes, I think you meant exorcising his demons and not exercising his demons.....

Neil_B

I wish I could say it was inspired word-play, but no, it's from not having my morning tea.

Wogster

Ah, yes, underst ..... goes and gets more coffee .... where was I, oh yeah, I understand perfectly

BadKarma62

Cycling is something I've always wanted to get into but after my back injury never expected to accomplish. Then 2 things totally changed my life. The first was devestating, I lost my 18 year old son to cancer in April this year. Will never really be over that. Then about a month ago, I happened across a recumbent bike on CraigsList. I decided that there are still a few things I wanted to do before my days are done. So TJ is my motivation, to do the things he never had a chance to do.

Karma

Neil_B

Speaking of which, IMDB says The Memory of Running film is in pre-production for a 2010 release. The author is credited with writing the screenplay. This has the potential to be the best film about cycling since Breaking Away.

Speaking of Breaking Away, The Memory of Running has a chunk of the novel set in Indiana, and there's a philosophical truck driver in the oddball set of folks the protagonist meets while pedaling across the US. Both points should interest Mr. Stormcrowe.

Tom Stormcrowe

Oh really? I was an oddballed philosophical truck driver.

Richard_Rides

Probably drove a pumpkin....

Neil_B

Chapter one of the novel:

https://www.ronmclarty.com/books/running/excerpts.asp

Tom Stormcrowe

Nope, Bud Meyer, Covenant Transport, and Marten on the Lower 48. DeBeers Logistics, SA, in South Africa, and British Petroleum Logistics Division up in Alaska.

funrover 

My wife helps me a lot
bike videos
this forum
the fact I want to live a healthy life

Raven87

My five motivators:

1. The endorphin rush of being out on the bike with the wind in my face, 'sailing' in my own little world, enjoying the absolute freedom of direction and speed, breathing the fresh air, and seeing/hearing/feeling the world around me; sensations you can never get from any motorized vehicle.
2. The scales
3. The mirror
4. My lovely wife and children
5. My wonderful grandchildren who are absolutely the joys of my heart

bdinger

I have two. My wife, who deserves to finally see the "real me" some day. My kids, who I want to be alive for. The latter is, I hate to say it, by far the most motivating. I can't stop when I think of them.

CliftonGK1

I just ordered a pair of PI Gavia bib tights for the upcoming cold/rainy season. Got the first taste of it this morning: Drizzling rain, pitch black, cool 50 degrees.

I was in the gym last night, and a guy mentioned that he's selling his summer bike and putting the beater up on the indoor trainer for the winter. That's my motivation. I've lost my will if I pack it in for the winter. I just put the long mudflaps back on my bike this weekend; bring on the rain.

lil brown bat

This is all the motivation I need:



Montezuma Bowl, A-Basin. Not for the faint of heart, the weak of leg or the short of breath.

Neil_B

OK, this is a little long, and I've posted it before, but it does discuss motivation. Skip ahead to the paragraphs after 4:48 PM for the juicy stuff.

From Zero to One Hundred: A Century Timeline

Prologue:

May, 2004: I meet Yvonne Mucerino, mother of my friend Joe and a person with MS, while meeting Joe for a trip to Cambridge Springs, PA. She's unable to walk without assistance, and her general physical condition is so poor that she will be die in less than seven months. I'm oblivious to my own physical decline from obesity, and do nothing to correct it.

Spring, 2005 - While stopping by a friend's home, he and two mutual friends come in from a bike ride. They
are in bike gear, obvious spent from the effort of the ride, but despite their fatigue they are exhilarated. I sit there, envious and immobile. I'd never ridden a bike, and I knew I never would be able to ride one. Fat people don't ride bikes. It was about this time co-workers overheard me complaining that "someone should invent a pill to cure obesity."

October 2005 - I'm 385 pounds, and during trips to Cleveland, Ohio, and Pittsburgh, PA, I'm unable to walk a city block without stopping to rest. Again I do nothing.

December 22,2005 - I am hospitalized with chest pains. I spent a night in the cardiac unit, having my blood drawn every two hours and tied to various heart monitors. The next day I receive an EKG, and I am in such poor
condition the doctors give me dobutamine to simulate the effect of exercise. I am discharged and spend the holiday weekend depressed. I watch Hitchcock's Lifeboat and feel as trapped as the characters do.

January 3, 2006 - I received a one month trial gym membership as a gift from one of the bike riding friends I'd mentioned previously. I waddle to my gym and take my first bike ride - seven minutes on a stationary
recumbent. I'm exhausted, and sweat is pouring off me. I'm back again the next night. And the night afterward. And the weekend. I develop a time line for my weight loss, ending with my purchase of a bicycle. One of my friends jokes she wants to take a picture of me in bike shorts.

December 17 - I've lost 110 pounds. Someone at my gym mentions the shop he purchased his bike from, and I delay the start of a planned hike in Valley Forge a few minutes to visit the shop. Two hours later I own a bike.

December 24 - My first 'real' bike ride. I travel about a mile, and spill while avoiding a mailbox that jumped in front of me. The chain comes off and I think to myself "I've broken my bike already!" Once the chain is back on, I spend the next weekend practicing balancing in a field near my home.

January 6, 2007 -
I meet a poster to the Fat Cyclist forums, "Uncadan", for a bike lesson on the Schuylkill River Trail in Valley Forge Park. It's not much of a lesson - I am still using the bike like a scooter, and I manage to knock Dan and his 2000 dollar Canondale to the ground. Dan, a former wrestler, falls without hurting himself, and the bike is OK. Later that month Dan suggests I ride in the MS City to Shore for Team Copaxone, the team he captains. I think I might be able to ride 25 miles by then, and register.

January 7 - On the day before my 41th birthday, I complete a blistering time trial of three miles in 38
minutes. For much of the winter I ride on a stationary spinning bike at my gym. And after a month of back pain, I am diagnosed with scoliosis in the upper spine. Many things I'd liked to do, such as hiking and
weightlifting, I must now use extreme caution when executing.

March - I resume outside riding. My longest ride is 20 miles by the end of the month.

July 1 - My first metric century. Eight hours for 69 miles. I ride my second one a week later.

September 8 - My first attempt at 100 miles ends in failure from back pain. By
this month I'd raised over a thousand dollars for MS.

September 22 - I complete an 82 mile ride. My training for the MS City to Shore ends.

The ride:

September 28 - I take off from work to relax the day before the ride. With that thought in mind, I am sharing a hotel room in Cherry Hill, NJ, a few miles from the ride start. The MS Society hasn't sent me my rider number, so I'll need to be at the ride early. (My rider number arrived at my home Saturday, 50 miles and 6 hours after the ride start.) I get thoroughly lost trying to find the hotel, and a two hour trip turns
into a three hour trial. Getting directions from the locals was impossible, as there was a language barrier at every 7-11 I stopped at. The person I was sharing the room with, Phil M. of Bicycle Club of Philadelphia, could offer little additional help, as he was riding to the hotel, and unless I wanted to drive his cue sheet.... Fortunately I found a map and reached the hotel by 9:30 PM. Unfortunately that night
I received less sleep than I wanted and needed.

September 29 - I arrive at the Woodcrest PATCO station at ten minutes after 5 AM. After running around from booth to booth getting my rider number and VIP Cyclist jersey, I put the bike together. I pull on arm and knee warmers to guard against the chill. The cyclist parked next to me helps me pin my rider number, 8123, to my back. Roark, my flat bar road bike, has the rider number tied to his top tube and his water bottles filled with diluted Gatorade.

6:00 AM - The parking lot quickly fills up with cyclists. The dark of night is broken by the riot of colorful
jerseys and helmets in before the ride start. Teams begin to congregate for the mass start and for team photos. Team J & J stand out as an enormous sea of red jerseys. The PA system announces instructions while a thousand conversations take place. Team Campbell's members chant "Soup! Soup! Soup!" as the team photo is taken. Team Copaxone goes into the tent for the team photo about 6:30 AM, and I'm so nervous I take the bike in with me. A few minutes later, the top three teams in fund-raising from the previous year are sent off as the sun rises, and I and a few thousand others await the start.

6:50 AM - Our group is released onto Woodcrest Road. The road is closed to automobile
traffic this morning, but bicycle traffic creates its own problems. The large number of cyclists forced onto a small road with an up grade means speeds are slow. I feel like I'm executing a track stand continuously for the first half-mile. I stop and dismount once, and then gingerly reenter the broad stream of cyclists. Once over the top of the hill the pack begins to spread out, we pick up speed, and I become more stable on the bike.

7:05 AM - The peloton is separating. I'm able to increase my speed to my usual cruising range of 10 -12 MPH. It helps that the roads are very lightly traveled at this time of day, and most intersections have
people controlling traffic. The air is slightly chilly this morning, but I'm wearing a base layer, a compression shirt to keep loose skin tucked in, and the slight nip is preferably to a sweltering start. In a few minutes I pass my first roadside sign. The MS Society has roadside signs giving mileage, encouragement, and 'humor' that would cause a Burma-Shave ad copy writer to groan. "Definition: Popcorn - Dad's bad jokes."

But there are other signs as well. Well-wishers post signs encouraging specific riders, specific teams, riders in general. Sometimes folks stand on the sidewalk, ringing bells, waving flags, and shouting encouragement. But the sign I recall best was one of the most modest. On the left hand side of the road, a middle-aged woman sat in a lawn chair, holding a hand-printed sign. It read "Thank you for riding. I have MS."

7:30 AM - The larger the group of people, the more likely you are to get a few jerks in the mix. And I discovered this was true of the MS City to Shore as well. A rider wearing a Human Zoom jersey was zooming around riders, passing them on the right without announcing himself. I was one of the riders he passed. Riders were advised no more than two cyclists abreast, but the peloton took up the
entire road in some cases. Cars were forced to cross into the opposite lane, and wait for someone to move back to the right so they could pass. Two riders were bragging about a close call as they rode past me:

"Hey, I cut off a car!"

"Did you pat the windshield?"

8:20 - I'm making remarkably good time. My average speed is skewed by all that walking of the bike I did before the start, but I've been maintaining 12 MPH for most of the ride. However, I start to hear a
chirping sound when I shift gears. It's very audible, and I determine to get SAG assistance at the first rest stop, 20 miles from the start. Speaking of which, I see a Team Copaxone rider on the side of the road
with a broken spoke. Fortunately, help is on the way, and he eventually completes the ride.

A Bike Forums poster, "grahny", riding for Team Copaxone, races past. He'll complete all 175 miles this weekend with an average speed of more than 20 MPH.

8:40 AM - I meet JT, the fellow I rode with last week, as he leaves the first rest stop. His
new white and red Fuji has made him very fast indeed, because this is the last I saw him.

Someone from Keswick Cycles applies grease to my gears, and the squeaking stops. I grab the first of what promises to be a daylong parade of energy bars to stuff in my mouth, and fill up my water bottles. Dan, my team captain, arrives, and I pose for a photo with him. I'm on the road by 8:55 headed for the next stop,
ten miles distant.

9:40 AM - This is an odd time for lunch, but it is a lunch stop, so I have a chicken breast sandwich, followed by peanut butter and banana. I spend too much time at the rest stop, and don't get rolling until five after ten. Next rest stop is Egg Harbor, 12 miles distant. The century loop is a mile past that, and I need to be on the century loop by noon. If I'm not, no century this year.

10:30 AM - I hear the first of three crashes behind me. Apparently someone from Team Campbell's fell, and that wasn't "MMM... MMM... good!" I heard someone passing saying "She deserved it. You always have to be careful out here." I couldn't agree that she deserved to fall and risk injury, but she should have been careful, if in fact she wasn't. I hoped she was OK as I rolled onward.

11:10 AM - I pull into Egg Harbor rest stop, and headed for the "little cyclist's room" to, err, 'unhydrate.' I tanked up on water and Gatorade, and continued to feed on Clif Bars and whatever they had that resembled real food at the rest stops. All the sugar in the energy bars and Gatorade was making me
queasy.

I meet a friend riding for a 'friends and family' team, Scary Squirrel. I personally think it's tacky to mount anything on your helmet other than a visor, but some folks do just that at this ride. I saw antlers, horns, and other out of place objects. And in the case of Scary Squirrel, they had small stuffed squirrels mounted atop. But my friend's team added a touch of class to the tackiness by having the rider number sewn into the sides of the squirrel. "My girlfriend was up to eleven last night sewing these!" he bragged.

11:30 AM - My team captain has decided his racing season is over, and so he wants to ride with as many riders as possible. He accompanies me onto the century loop. We turn off from the main group of riders at mile 43 and enter the NJ Pine Barrens.

12:00 PM - Dan and I are riding in the New Jersey Pine Barrens. We ride next to each other, dropping back to single file when a car comes, passing each other as needed, and talking. If talking is to kill time,
Dan and I are heavily armed.

"How are you feeling?"

"My right shoulder and butt hurt."

"Whiner!"

"Some team captain you are!"

"Can you get it up to 15 MPH?"

"I'm pushing it hard now."

"Go into the big ring in the back and the small one in the front."

I speed up. "I'm doing 15 on my computer."

"I have 14.5 on mine. There, now we are doing 15."

"I can't keep up this pace."

Dan looks at the gears on my bike. "Shift down one more in the front. There, now you have matched my gearing. Spinning should be easier for you with little loss of speed. I'll get you to use those gears."

"I am using my gears."

"Not as they should be used."

We pull over so I can stretch. I grab a water bottle and guzzle it. In three minutes we are on the road again. Dan pulls ahead to catch up to other Team Copaxone riders. I'm alone for the first time this ride.

Riding alone is as pleasurable as riding with others, but it's a different sort of pleasure. It's selfish in the best sense of the word. I drank in the natural beauty of the Pine Barrens - the lakes, the trees, the
breeze.

The breeze soon become less enjoyable as it turned into a headwind. I was struggling to maintain my 12 MPH. I limped into the next rest stop. Dan was there.

"How are ya feeling?"

"I wish this shoulder wouldn't lean forward and to the left."

Dan grabbed the shoulder with both hands and tried to push it back into place.

"Great Dan, break it and I can't finish the ride."

As he headed to his bike and I headed to mine, I heard my name called. I turned to see a tall, thin fellow in a University of Pennsylvania jersey.

"Neil, how are you doing? I'm MTBLover, from Bike Forums."

"Hi."

"How are you holding up?"

I mimed collapsing onto my bike.

"Ha! If you made it this far, you can finish the rest. Good luck!"

I headed out with Dan and Jody, another Team Copaxone rider. I was quickly left behind. Dan had many team members riding the course, and I didn't expect him to stick with me. The wind had abated, so I rolled a little more easily. I found myself having to stop more frequently for water and to stretch. I managed to keep stops to no more than two to three minutes.

The century loop ended at Egg Harbor rest stop, where it started. The stop closed at 2:00 PM. I reached it at 1:52. Dan was there chatting with another rider. I loaded up with water and crackers, and finally removed my leg warmers. As I applied sunscreen, I noticed Dan had left. Perhaps he hadn't had seen me come in. I rolled out at one minute after two, determined to make the next rest stop, ten miles away. That stop closes at 3:00 PM.

2:15 PM - The first of three long traffic stops. The clock is ticking for me. The next rest stop closes at 3:00 PM. The entire course closes at 5:00 PM. I want to catch up to Dan. I want to be off the bike. I
want to be enjoying pasta in Ocean City. I want to lie down. I want a shower. And anyone who spends a minute next to me wants me to have a shower too.

2:30 PM - I dismount to get water, stretch, and take an ibuprofen. This is my fourth "vitamin I" of the day, and it's not helping my right shoulder. And between the vitamin I, the Gatorade, and the energy bars, I feel very queasy and bloated. All the pedaling is catching up to me.

I question why I am out here. Why am I putting myself through this? I'm overweight, almost obese. I shouldn't be out here. I have a physical problem, several in fact - crooked spine, knocked knees, uneven legs, and who knows what else. I wonder why God made me this way. And why He allowed me to lose weight after more than 30 years of obesity, and gave me an interest in endurance sports at the same time He let me learn I had a defective structure. But even as I think on these questions, the wheels are turning. Perhaps I ride because I can. I couldn't before. And while I am riding for others by bringing in sponsorship, and I am representing Team Copaxone as I ride, my riding is purely selfish. I am doing this for myself.
Because I can.

2:40 PM - I miss getting through a traffic light at anintersection, and the policeman directing traffic starts discussing my bike. I'm polite to the law enforcement officer, but I really want him to let me through.

2:57 PM - I pull into the rest stop. I grab water, and any food that looks like it won't make me vomit on my front wheel. A group of Team Copaxone riders pull out ahead of me. I check my voice mail. Phil M. who I shared the hotel room with back in Cherry Hill, is about one rest stop behind me. Phil can "pedal all day at 10 MPH" as he himself put it. I can't do that, and I haven't been waiting for him. The next rest stop is 12 miles away, and it closes at 4:00 PM. I head off at 3:02 PM. I am determined to make it to the next rest
stop, and to finish the ride by 5:30 PM. I push my tired legs around and around.

3:10 PM - I stop with an older rider at an intersection. He sees the VIP Cyclist ID around my neck. He has a sour look on his wrinkled face.

"Hmph, how much money do you raise to be a VIP."

"One thousand dollars. I raised 1300."

"Hmm. What do you do for a living?"

I think it an odd question, but I answer it.

"You meet a lot of clients, don't you?"

I sense where this conversation is going. Fortunately the light changes. I drop the grump like a bad habit.

3:30 PM - I stop under some shade to stretch. Two minutes, my shortest stop yet. I've already beaten my longest ride, 82 miles last week. I can stop any time. My shoulder and butt will thank me. I won't be the first rider to SAG today. I tell myself I can stop any time, and get back on the bike.

3:35 PM - Every story of the MS City to Shore I've ever heard mentions a little Asian lady who rides on an old three speed in a dress and high heels. I thought this was a myth, but there she is ahead of me. I pull up to her, say in my best Sunday voice, "on your left, Ma'am." and pass.

3:50 PM - I reach the last rest stop. Ocean City is about 12 miles away, the finish line 13. I visit the
restroom, load the water bottles, and call Dan.

"Hey."

"I'm at the last rest stop. I expect to be in Ocean City between 5:15 and 5:30 PM."

"All right. Anyone else out there?"

"A bunch of Copaxone riders just left. I passed a woman on a comfort bike about five miles ago. She's not here yet."

"OK. See you when you get here."

4:04 PM - I leave the rest stop. The air begins to smell of salt water. The headwind kicks up. I
draft a couple of guys for a mile or so. They are impressed that I'm going to complete a century on my first MS ride. They warn me not to be intimidated by the bridges I have to cross into Ocean City.

"They look big when you first see them a few miles away, but they aren't that steep."

"I've never met a hill I couldn't walk."

They laugh, and we roll on.

4:30 PM - We are passing through more heavily populated areas now. Someone shouts "yeah, a Safeway!" and suggests we buy food. Another rider points to the liquor store next to the supermarket. I dismount,
thankful for the red light.

I'm dismounting frequently now. I need to get off the saddle and stretch. And despite my heavy use of the
water bottles and the cooler temperatures, I am definitely dehydrated.

The light changes, and we roll on.

4:48 PM - I see the bridges. They look imposing, standing above the marshy plain and sea and barrier island. Three women wearing Penn jerseys gasp as they see them. "They aren't that bad" I shout as I turn past them towards Ocean City.

The bridges get bigger and bigger as I approach. I sense other riders getting fearful; they slow down. I don't. I'm tired and sore, but I say to myself, "You've climbed the nine percent grade in Barton Meadows with loaded panniers. You ride in Kimberton. Your commute to church has hills bigger than
this. This is nothing." So I grind up the first bridge, gasping "on your left" to riders walking their bikes.

Of course, when I ride in Kimberton, I haven't ridden 99 miles before tackling the hills. I need to stop at the top of the first bridge. If you ask me, I am admiring the view. Getting water and catching my breath is only a bonus. I remount and roll down the hill, kicking up into a high gear. I want to have momentum for the next bridge. I grind to the top and admire the view again. And then I roll into Ocean City.

I had my century in the bag. Now to complete the ride. Both Steve Scheetz of Bicycle Club of
Philadelphia and my team captain threatened to "kick my a**"" if I quit prior to the end. But I don't want to quit. I know why I am riding.

"I am riding because my limitations are entirely of my own making," I thought. "I am riding because I couldn't before. I am riding because I am no longer 385 pounds and unable to move. I ride because I've wanted to ride a bicycle for a long, long time. I ride because people tell me I can't, tell me I shouldn't. I ride because I am not a fat man on a bike, I am a real cyclist. And I've been one for a long time now. This
ride only confirms it." My eyes well up a little. It's probably the salt air causing it.

I turn the corner to the end of the ride. I see Dan and Jody on the sideline. "Come on Neil!" he shouts
as I approach the end. And I stop. It's over. I'm so tired I have trouble dismounting. Three volunteers come out and hold the bike while I get off. Dan comes over and punches me on the arm. "Way to go! You
did it!"

I smile. I did it. I rode a century.

Epilogue:

Dan, Jody, and I had a pasta dinner at the Ocean City High School, one of the two sites for hungry cyclists. Dan and I were sharing a hotel room. I showered and rested on my bed, allowing my structure to relax. After he showered and changed, he took me out to TJI Fridays to celebrate my century and to 'tank up' for tomorrow. I was too tired and had too much shoulder stiffness to ride, so I was SAGged back to Woodcrest on a school bus. I exchanged my VIP jersey for a smaller size, picked up my completion certificate, and took it to my car. I met Dan and Jody as they rode up, had lunch, and left.

Phil M. got into Ocean City 45 minutes behind me and had dinner at the other location. I missed him
the next morning as well. I didn't see any of the other riders I had met - Scary Squirrel, JT, MTBLover - in Ocean City.

My bike shop, Bikesport, was running SAG for the ride, and I met them the next morning. One of them said they had seen me, and that I looked like I was "really suffering."

Roark, my bike, spent the night in the bike cage at the Ocean City High School. The next day he rode back to Woodcrest in a truck. He lost a water bottle in route to Woodcrest.

Neil_B

Not to pick a fit with someone who is bigger than me, but she's seen the "real you", Ben. The Ben that can lose all that weight is the same Ben that can maintain the loss later.

bdinger

*bow* Thank you, and that's exactly what she tells me . Hence why I married her, I'm a lucky man at times .

Neil_B

BTW, isn't it nice to be able to bow again? When I was 400 pounds with a 60 inch waist, I couldn't do it. I imagine you couldn't either.

Neil_B

Speaking of which, one great motivation, and a non-scale victory, was being able to fit into a diner booth again. I was out with a friend of mine, and at some diner in Jersey there was only a booth available. We sat down, and I realized I could fit in without my blubber overlapping the table. I remember shouting to my friend, and probably disturbing other patrons, "John! I can fit in a booth!"