ITS ALIVE! ITS ALIVE! THE BLOG IS ALIVE!

In case any of you were getting updates on this blog, please know that it will be up and running again in the next week as I prepare for this years Ride to Conquer Cancer!

Word up homies,
Mohamed

Let's Ride

What was going through my mind on the morning of June 12th?

OMIGOD! OMIGOD! OMIGOD! OMIGOD! OMIGOD! OMIGOD! OMIGOD! OMIGOD! OMIGOD! OMIGOD! OMIGOD! OMIGOD! OMIGOD! OMIGOD! OMIGOD! OMIGOD!"

"THIS IS THE STUPIDEST THING I HAVE EVER GOTTEN MYSELF INTO. THIS IS A BAD IDEA. BAD IDEA. BAD BAD BAD BAD BAD BAD IDEA."

There really are very few words to describe the panic that was going through my mind, my heart, and my body. I thought I was going to vomit the entire car ride to Exhibition Place, the Ride's starting point. I got out of the car, and I was literally shaking. It was 6:45am, very grey, and very, VERY windy. It felt like a hurricane was about to start.

BAD IDEA.

So there we were, in a sea of 5,000 cyclists, listening to the opening ceremony, and I am still freaking out. Once the Chair of the Princess Margaret Hospital spoke, they had a cancer survivor say a few words. He told us about his fight with Non-Hodgkins Lymphoma, how his son played an integral part in his recovery, and how they were here today doing this ride together. Then I looked over my shoulder, and saw a dear friend standing there quietly, probably thinking about his father, and how much he would have liked to spend the weekend with him had he not lost his battle with this disease a few years ago. And suddenly, I realized I was the biggest jackass in the entire world. What I was about to do was nothing compared to what most of the people there had dealt with. Suck it up and fight, Mohamed. This challenge is less than one-one hundredth of one percent of what others here faced. You have nothing to complain about.

Soon enough, we were out on the road. It was really hard getting used to sharing the road with so many cyclists. Previously, the most I had been out with was three, let alone 5,000. People were riding all sorts of bicycles, including multiple variations of tandems, people using mountain bikes, not to mention the elderly lady riding a bike that was likely older than her with a milk crate attached to the back as a basket. I even saw a women with one leg powering her way through a massive specially built bicycle.

The first 50km were slow going through city streets in Toronto and Mississauga, and it was a little uncomfortable knowing how and when it was safe to pass someone. About 3km in, I saw an older women, maybe 60ish, do a horrific face plant just off to my left. I saw her glasses broken on the pavement an inch from her face. I pulled over to the side to help, but by the time I looked back, she was already surrounded by 10 others, so I kept going. It took a while to get to the first pit stop, but only because of the amount cyclist traffic. The amount of energy I still had left me cautiously optimistic.

The best part of the day came at a Cheering station in Mississauga, where I saw so much of my family cheering me on. My daughter Sofia was even wearing a t-shirt that said "Go Daddy Go". I had to hold back tears when I saw so many familiar faces, offering so much support.

I was brought back to realty a few km later when my odometer fell off my bike going over a bump. Aaron and I pulled over to run back and get it, when a nice women pulled over herself and picked it up for me. As she approached us, she said she didn't want to stop again and would toss it to me. Ummm, okay. Toss it to me, and if I don't catch it, it will fall on the soft grass. Except, the women wasn't very good at throwing things, and instead, threw the odometer directly into the pavement in front of her. Great. It was now broken, and I would have to go the final 180km without any idea of where I was. Perhaps, she should have just left it.

At least she was trying to be nice, which was a common theme the whole ride. Everyone was always so nice, looking out for each other, encouraging each other. It was like a 5,000 member team, and no one was allowed to be left behind. Often I would hear a volunteer or supporter yell out "Go Mohamed!", or as someone was passing me, they would yell out "On your left, Mohamed!" At first it freaked me out that all these people somehow knew who I was...until I realized all of our bikes had nameplates on them.

The optimism dissipated rapidly as the second 50km began. Steep climbs, roller coaster hills, and the feeling that race organizers had just been toying with my emotions. And then the big kahuna: The Ancaster Hill. Not the steepest climb we had on the day, but trust me it was steep enough coming up from Dundas Valley, and for a good 1.5-2km. Everyone was moving at a snails pace up the hill, not wanting to stop out of fear of not being able to start again.

Aaron would start out after each stop with me, but inevitably, I would fall behind. Of course, the Ancaster climb was no different. Except this time Dr. Harris, with the best of intentions, was up to his old antics. He was well ahead of me when I started climbing, and about halfway up the hill, I looked across the street and saw him coming back down. He must be coming to see if I am okay, I thought. I tried to wave him down, but I don't think he saw me in the sea of yellow and black spandex. About five minutes later, I looked to my left and saw him leisurely coasting past everyone going back up the hill. In the time it took me to finally make it to the to the top, he had had time to go up the hill twice, pull out a laptop, connect to the internet, and do his taxes online. He was grumbling something about non-refundable tax credits when I caught up to him.

I made it up the hill, but was not feeling good physically. The last 5km were the most painful I have ever experienced. My back, my rear, my shoulders, my neck, my arms, my everything were seizing. Aaron was with me for those last few km, and he was trying to encourage me, but I totally tuned him out. I was just dying, and I think both us weren't sure if I was actually going to find the day one finish line.

But I did.

I could barely talk at the end of it, was shaking, and could barely walk. The weather just held up long enough for me to park my bike, as the skies opened up about 5 minutes after we got to the camp site at Mohawk College. We got out of the rain, and rested for a few minutes before Corrie picked us up for the ride home. It was at this point that I discovered the power of Advil. They were handing it out like candy at the first aid tent. People were laughing, clinking their tablets together in a toast, then locking arms to through them back like they were champagne.

After a good night's sleep, we were back on the road by 7:45am, except this time the rain didn't cooperate, and we got a little wet for the first 20km. Rain can be a cyclists greatest enemy. Not only do you have to worry about slipping when going around corners, and being more cautious when braking with wet tires, there is also the dreaded chaffage. But thanks to the advice of a work colleague which I told you about a little while back, I was well prepared, and aside from discomfort in my, uh, nippular area from the cold, all was good (Thanks LC).

Day two was not nearly as treacherous, but was a little longer than we had thought. It actually came in at 115km, as opposed to the 102km of day one. And my body had not fully recovered from the previous days corporal punishment. Whereas the day before my back pain began at around the 65km mark, on this day we were barely out of the driveway at Mohawk college before I started to feel it.

The day wasn't nearly as eventful as day one, just long. I kept chugging along, making sure to replenish at each stop. I was also getting much more comfortable riding with others. I found myself getting burst of energy, often passing multiple riders at once. Finally, after about 5 months of this stuff, I felt like I knew what I was doing on a bicycle.

The organizers of the event did an incredible job, especially with making sure we had enough to eat and drink. At each stop there was water, Gatorade, apples, bananas, oranges, pretzels, bagels, crackers, popcorn, granola bars, chips, nuts, brownies, and on and on. It may sound like a nine-year-old's birthday party, but it provided the crucial mix of salt, sugar, protein, and potassium that you just can't get enough of at that level of physical exertion.

I stupidly did not have enough to eat and drink after pit stop number three, and I was feeling it. Luckily, I would stash a little food in my shirt pockets at each stop just in case, and boy did it come in handy between the 70 and 92km stops. I finally had to pull over and have a handful of corn chips and about half a litre of Gatorade before I struggled to the last pit stop where Aaron had been waiting about 20 minutes for me to arrive. I replenished, and we set out on the final leg of a very long five month journey.

I was feeling good knowing that we were almost done, and somehow got another burst of energy. Aaron and I took turns leading, and we just bombed it through those last 20km, passing just about everyone along the way. It felt great flying past everyone with such speed and confidence! As we were about one km from the finish line, there was a team of about 10 cyclists trying to cross the finish line together. I couldn't help it. I signalled to Aaron, then pulled left, and then just powered right pass them, into the home stretch. It felt so good doing that, I actually laughed out loud.

I was shocked at how many people had congregated along the final stretch to the finish line. There was music blaring, an announcer calling the play-by-play, and thousands cheering us on. About as close as I will ever come to feeling like a rock star. And as I finally crossed the finish line, I fought hard the urge to cry, instead focusing on where to find my personal fan club, Corrie and Sofia. They soon made their way to us, followed by my big brother and his family. The lump in my throat just got bigger and bigger.

One word: Overwhelming.

So, that was it. Done. All that training, both physical and mental. All that time spent in spin classes, at the gym, on the road. All that work, and finally POOF! Its over. To be honest, it reminded me of my wedding day. You spend months preparing and planning for one of the most important and special events of your life, and then it is over in one day. And it both instances, at the end of each day, I had my favourite person in the whole world standing next me.

I don't have the words to express about awesome my wife Corrie has been through all this. The first five months of raising a child are hard enough, and let alone with me at the gym or on the road after work. And on weekends, when after being out 2- 4 hours riding, I would barely be able to move my body the rest of the day, essentially being useless around the house. And through it all she never wavered, never got cross with me (well, not more than I would usually provoke), and never gave up on me, despite me giving up on myself multiple times. Daily. Even on ride weekend, she took care of everything, chauffeuring me and my friends to and from the rides, making dinner, getting Sofia that adorable shirt, and cheering me on in Mississauga, and spending hours in traffic with a restless four month old just to see me cross that finish line. Corrie and Sofia were my enablers, and my inspiration.

I also have to thank Aaron, Heather, and our team captain Peter for their unrelenting support and encouragement. While they may been the receiving end of much of my frustration, and in Aaron's case my wrath on this blog, they refused to let it get the best of me, and they succeeded.

And finally, I thank you for reading this blog, and sharing it with so many people. Your indulgence in keeping up with my adventure kept me motivated, and your generosity with your wallets will save many lives.

Alas, my blog will come to an end. But it was a lot of fun for me. Maybe, if I come up with something else to write about, you will tune in again? Huh? Anyone? Bueller?

In the meantime, give me a shout if you want to hit the pavement. I will be up for it.

Cheers.

Its Show Time!

T minus five days and counting. Oy.

How am I feeling? Excited, relieved, and petrified. Ready for my preparation to come to fruition.

The last two weekends has been all about logging more and more kilometers. Last weekend, my friend Ben joined me, despite my high maintenance of being slow, riding at an un-godly morning hour, and taking an easy route. We went from my house, to Burlington, across the Mississauga, and back home - a full 68km! I followed it up the next day with another 41km into Milton, although I was hurting pretty good after that one.

Headed out for another 119km this weekend. The second ride was my longest yet - 71km. Didn't beat my previous best by much, but it was by far the hardest ride I have had. Aaron and I worked our way North of Oakville, in nasty 25 km/h head winds, doing absolutely ridiculous escarpment climbs. It was basically a roller coaster for 10km. Three times I made it halfway up before I had to stop and walk up the rest. Aaron would coast up the hills, come back down to see if I was okay, then go back up the hill. On one of them, he went up the second time blindfolded and eating an apple. Show off. Going down the hills on the way back was much more fun. I actually reached 49 km/h. I think. It may have been faster but I was afraid to take my eyes off the road.

Over the past month, I have completely lost count of the number of times I have been passed by other cyclists on the road. Particularly going east and west along Lakeshore Boulevard between Southdown Road and Brant Street - a popular route for cyclists. Once, I was heading home, and two women about my age wearing team jerseys called out "on you left!" as they leisurely passed me and took off. Experienced riders I thought. About five minutes later, two more women wearing the same jerseys passed by, except they they were both about 10 years older, and about my size. Alrighty then. About five minutes after that, one more women passed, easily pushing sixty, and maybe another10 pounds heavier. Kids in passing cars were pointing at me and laughing.

Finally, this past weekend, I was able to do my own passing. Twice, in fact. Never mind that the first one was 12 years old, and the second was again pushing sixty and much bigger than me. And on a mountain bike. And carrying three backpacks of cargo on the back.

Beggers can't be choosers.

It has been a long ride (pardon the pun), and all joking aside, this is going to be one magical weekend. Thousands of people riding at least 200km, to find a cure. I think it will be a very emotional experience, for me personally, and for anyone who may have been affected by this horrible disease. I have been asking you all for months to donate to the cause, and so many of you have stepped up.

I want to take this opportunity to HONOUR the following people for supporting my ride to conquer cancer:

Zak, Shelly, and Jacob Bhamani
Riaz, Julie, Claire, Josie, and Elliot Bhamani
Michael, Oliver, Henry, Tim, and Christine Wilson
Sandy and Roger Butcher
Laura Croucher
Chris Reid
Joseph Watson
Lisa Anderson
Chris, Sarah, and Casey Butcher
Brian Uchikata and Jennier McCutcheon
Diane Jeffreys
Phil and Barb Lafleche
Jamie Belcher and Tiffany Seccareccia
Chris Hough
Jonathan and Laura Butcher
Diane Butcher
Katherine Ros
Andrea Bruce
Armen Ashekian
Amanda Pieris
Stephen Weir and Wendy Litner
Shab and Kevin Fernandes
Sean McGill
Richard and Barbara Umpherson
Kristy Dickson and Ian Hons
Zibby Braine
Dawn and Paul Nicholson
Preeti Nigam
Nicholas and Katherine Lal
Karen Crouteau
Andrea Cohen
Ben Bilton
Lisa Green and Joel Fornecki
and countless other anonymous donors

You should all know what wonderful, caring, and supportive people you are. Remember that you have made a difference in someone's life. Thank you.

It is not too late to join this list of honourees. You can donate to the ride by clicking on the link at the top right of this page.

My next post will be my last, a re-cap of this coming weekends events. I hope you will all tune in.

See you at the finish line.

Progress Physically, Regress Mentally

In the last 12 days, I have travelled 257 km on my bike.

You would think that I would be happy, pumped, driven, ready-to-go. Actually, I am pretty much back to where I was 12 days ago: Just starting to gain confidence, with just 17 days to go until I am facing the challenge of my life.

12 days ago, on a pretty chilly Saturday morning, I headed out for a ride with my friend Steve, a colleague that recently moved to the neighbourhood. Steve tragically lost his father to Cancer just a couple of years ago, and is touchingly dedicating his Ride to Conquer Cancer to the memory of his dad. We headed out at about 7am from his place, heading west on Lakeshore Road into Burlington. As great a guy as Steve is, his wife has her Angel Pie firmly wrapped around her little finger, so he had to be home within an hour, and turned back at Walkers Line.

I was actually feeling pretty good, so I kept going a little longer before looking at my little odometer and realizing that I had gone 21km. I was stoked! I even called Corrie to tell her how far I had travelled, and that I was on my way home. Then, at around the 30km mark, the pain started to kick in. I was getting tired, and sore. I struggled my way back to Fourth Line in Oakville, ready to turn north for the last 7km, the home stretch. Then it hit me like a punch in the face.

Wind.

Not only was I freezing at this point, my clothes damp from sweat, and on a serious incline heading north from the lake, but this crazy wind came out of nowhere, and it felt like the incline was suddenly Mount Everest. It took forever to finish that stretch, taking me to 43km for the day. But boy did I feel like crap. I could barely walk, and even had trouble getting on the floor to put Sofia into her car seat later in the day.

Determined to do back-to-back rides, I was up again at 7:00am, this time on my own, heading north into Milton. This time, it was the first 10km.

Really, I wanted to die.

About 15 minutes in, I was in so much pain, and totally out of breath. I clearly had not recovered from the previous day. And for the first time, I really started to think there is no way I am going to be able to do this stupid 200km ride. What the HELL made me think this was a good idea. I was cursing Peter for convincing me to do it. I was cursing Aaron for making it look so easy. And I was cursing myself for letting myself get into a situation where I would letting so many people down, including myself, and in a such a humiliating fashion, say, I don't know, by maybe WRITING A BLOG ABOUT IT.

I came this close to reaching for my phone and calling Corrie to come pick me up, but knew she and Sofia would probably be still sleeping, and I was so embarrassed. I told myself "just get past the 407", then "just get to Lower Baseline", then "just one more km....just 3 more...". Next thing I know, I made it to Milton Hospital at Derry Road and First Line, about 17km. I took a break, had some water and a snack, and thought about how I would get home again. Except going home ended up being a breeze. It wasn't an easier ride than it was coming, but I suddenly felt like a million bucks. I don't know if I had just finally warmed up, or if that granola bar gave me a shot of energy, but I flew home to complete 34km, a total of 77km for the weekend.

While that was a great physical feat for a fatty like me, mentally I had totally gone backwards, and I was completely depressed about it, and didn't know how to deal with it.

How did I get over it? Well, it was talking to another colleague at work, Andie. She was in my office, and I was telling her what a horrible weekend it was, and how I felt totally defeated. She looked at me like I had completely lost my mind. "You know, when you started this thing, you were completely terrified just to be on two wheels," she said. "Now you just did 77km in two days! What the hell is wrong with you?"

Hmmmmmm. The women makes a point.

The rebound began, and I haven't looked back. I did 26km and 34km during that week, and then cranked out 51km and 39km this past weekend (way easier than last weekend), before another 31km last night. It still feels a little crazy that I will try and do 200km in 2 days, but it is starting to feel a little more doable.

This coming weekend, I am planning on doing a 65km ride on Saturday, and then 50ish on Sunday. After a couple of shorter ones during the week, my last training ride will be next weekend, hopefully in the 80-90km range.

I hope I live to tell you about it.

Thanks Andie.

Four Stories

STORY NO. 1 - Grease Up

A couple of weeks ago, I was on my way up the elevator at work with a colleague of mine who has been very supportive of my training adventures (and shall remain nameless). "How is the training going?" they ask. I say it had been slow for a while, but things have picked up and I am having fun. "Don't forget to grease up all over before you ride," they said. There are three other people in the elevator.

Ahem. "I'm sorry, did you say grease up?" I asked. "Oh yeah! You are supposed grease up all over before you head out on the road!" Now everyone in the elevator is listening intently, clearly want to know where this conversation was going. One of the spectators said to me "Oh, are you doing the Ride to Conquer Cancer?" I say yes. "That is great, I did it last year, had a great time." She then looked over at my colleague. "I am sorry, what do you mean by grease up?" I am hoping she say means "grease up" the chain on my bike, or to use sun screen, and not "grease up" like Arnold Schwarzenegger before the Mr. Olympia competition.

"Well, I have a friend that bikes, and they say you should grease up your, um, mid-section to avoid discomfort when riding for long periods." Ahhhhhhh. Now I know what they were talking about. Pete had also suggested using a cream or lotion so that area doesn't get too dry and irritable from friction, especially if your bike shorts are a little too lose.

Let me tell you, that was an awkward 30 second elevator ride. My colleague knew it too. "Why do I have a feeling this discussion is going to end up on your blog?"

STORY NO. 2 - Fashionistas

I told you last time about my first 30 km ride. I went for another last weekend, but this time around the country roads between Oakville, Burlington, and Milton. A lot of riders like coming out here because there is relatively little traffic, few traffic lights, and challenging routes up and along the Niagara escarpment. I think I saw at least 60 riders out and about that day.

I was meeting Heather and Aaron for 9:00 am at the corner of Sixth Line and Lower Baseline, where there is a small gravel parking lot where many cyclers congregate before heading out together. They texted to say they were going to be a little late, so I stepped out of my car to get out my bike and pump up the tires.

Big mistake.

You see, hard core cyclers tend to be thoroughly vapid, narcissistic, and egocentric. And here I was surrounded by them. There was a group of them next to my car, waiting for their friends to show up. They were all decked out super fancy bike shorts or pants, shirts full of sponsoring logos, shoes, helmets, gloves, sunglasses, water bottles, bananas and protein gel packs tucked into their gear, and absolutely ridiculously expensive bikes.

And they clearly had little patience for anyone who didn't have the same.

One by one, as people arrived and got out of their car, every other biker there would look them over, what they were wearing, and what kind of equipment they had on. Let the judging begin.

"I can't believe he is wearing last year's Pearl Izumi Tri Fly III shoes! HELLLOOOOOOO? Whatever!"

"What did those gloves cost you, like $250? Why don't you just use latex gloves?"

"Yeah, that used Cervelo bike is okay, I suppose, if you have no self respect and never want to amount to anything."

Tough crowd. Here I was wearing a long sleeve t-shirt, with regular shorts covering my Christmas gift bike shorts (sorry, no one wants to see that), pulling my borrowed Specialized road bike out of the trunk of my car, struggling for 5 minutes to re-attach the front wheel and then another 15 minutes trying to remember how to pump up the tires. It was like walking into a high school dance with my date, who happens to be my cousin, in a powder blue tuxedo my mother bought for me at value village.

That, and I was literally 3-4 time larger than all of them (width wise). I felt so uncomfortable, I almost got back in the car to wait for Heather and Aaron to show up.

The lesson? It still sucks to be un-cool at 32 years old.

STORY NO. 3 - Directions, please.

This past weekend, we were going to a get together at a friend's place in Milton. I decided I would suck it up, and bike there...by myself! It doesn't sound like a big deal, but being out and sharing major roads with cars (without crying) on my own was a big step for me. I worked out a 27km route, and told Corrie and Sofia I would meet them there.

About two thirds of the way there, I was riding North on First Line, when an on-coming car pulled over and waved me down. There were two south Asian gentlemen in the car with heavy accents. "Pardon me! How do I get to Hamilton?" They had stopped in the middle of a one lane road, and cars were lining up behind them, and me. I told them to pull to the side so cars could get by. They pulled over, got out, and started crossing the street.

I am such an idiot, I thought. I have seen Indian movies like this before, although they usually involve a motorcycle. They would demand my wallet, I would say no, we would get into an epic "Kill Bill" worthy fight scene, dance (literally, I mean a choreographed dance), and then I would get the girl, and finish the 27km.

They stopped in the middle of the road, so I again had to ask them to come off the road so cars could get by. "Can you give us directions to Hamilton?" Then they furled their eyebrows. "But I don't want to take the 407! I am not paying that mauder chaud government for that!!!" (ask a south Asian person what that means, if you don't know). Hmmm, I thought. I wonder if these guys are related to my parents?

I gave them directions and sent them on their way.

STORY NO. 4 - Thanks for Stepping Up!

You guys rule! I picked up about $750 in donations over the last two weeks! Thanks to all who have supported me so much! I still have about $400 to go, but I really think we can smash that goal, and maybe even hit $3,000! So if you haven't already, please donate soon!

Sorry that was such a long one. Cheers!

31 Clicks

Yeah, that's right. I rode 31km last Saturday!

Boo yaa!

Our Ride to Conquer Cancer team leader Pete has been trying to set up some team rides the last couple of weekends. The first weekend I took a pass, for a couple of reasons. First, I had family in town for Easter Weekend, so it was a little tough to find the time. But second, and more importantly, I still hadn't at that point gotten on a road bike. That was a major hurdle. I am finding that one of my worst enemies in all this (in addition to just about all foods) is my brain. I was convinced that I was probably going to fall off at some point, and was really dreading it. No tread on really thin wheels.

Lets face it. Me and thin anything just don't really go together (except for my wife).

You know, its remarkable how something as simple as riding a bike can just bring on an avalanche of insecurity. Had I gone on that ride for my first ride, I would literally have been the Fat Man on a Little Bicycle, in my painted on bike shorts, a grown 32 year old man barely able to stay up on two wheels. I wasn't ready to a spectacle just yet. One of the few times I would prefer to just blend into the background.

I went out on my own instead, as I mentioned in my last post, got comfortable with it, and found it remarkably easy to get used to. So I was ready for the adventure.

It was cold on Saturday, so we headed out a little late, hoping it would warm up. There five of us - Peter, David, Claire, and Heather - all experienced riders, so I found myself drowning in a sea of spandex. Claire and David went ahead of us, while Pete and Heather stayed back to babysit me. I am not exaggerating that last point. I actually had to stop and tuck my track pants into my socks so they wouldn't get caught in my bike chain.

We headed out onto Lakeshore, and I was a little tense with cars flying by. As I started to really get comfortable, we began to approach Ford Drive, and saw a couple other riders standing around. As it turned out, as they approached a traffic light, David had hit his breaks, and Claire did not hit hers fast enough. They touched wheels, and she took a major tumble. Her breaks and handle bars were twisted something fierce, and she was clearly in a lot of pain - we thought she may have a broken collarbone or dislocated shoulder. We had to call 911.

This is not a picture you want to see 2km into your first big ride.

After Heather got me to stop hyperventilating, and the ambulance took Claire and David to the hospital, we headed out again. We rode east, making our way towards Port Credit. We went into a sub-division, rode down by the lake, up and down hills, all over the place.

And it was great. I had a blast.

By the time we got back to Pete's, I was spent. I was tired, my legs were burning, and my rear was VERY sore. But I can't describe the sense of accomplishment. And having such good friends behind you with encouraging words makes such a difference. My confidence jumped a couple of notches.

I have been able to keep up my training over the last couple of weeks. In addition to spins classes with my KPMG Conquer Cancer teammates, I have been out on a few evening rides - 12km, 15km, and 18km. Each time I go out, I want to push myself a little further, but it appears the sun has become my enemy. By the time I get home and help put Sofia to bed, there is barely an hour of daylight left. This weekend, Aaron and I are hoping to get out for another 30-40km, both days if the weather holds up.

Suddenly, 100km seems a touch more doable. Lets not discuss the second 100km...

I have about a month of fundraising time to go, and still have about $1000 I need to raise. So please, open up your hearts and wallets if you haven't already, and donate using the link above to support the Princess Margaret Hospital Foundation!

Later.

Forgive me, Lord Armstrong

Forgive me, Lord Armstrong, keeper of the yellow jersey, for I have sinned.

My training had cometh to a halt.

Oh, despite thine example of will and perseverance,
I succumbed to the evil comforts aplenty.

The comfort of the soft couch in my living quarters,
The seductive lure of a television,
The taunt from a witch doctor,
The torturous demands of "the man,"
The decadence of me lady's cooking,
The volumous cries of a daughter for her father.

Forget the atrophy that has descended upon my body. I must equally battle the atrophy that has affected my soul.

For one fortnight and one half I withered mentally,
while physically I continued to swell,
despair had infected me, and I was swayed to believe failure was my destiny.

Alas, eight nights ago, I witnessed a sight so hideous, I almost heaved.
I mounted a scale, and saw numbers with such elevation, I thought it was it was my social insurance number.

From anguish has come vigour, a renewal of my providence,
an amplification of my dedication.

There is but 10 weeks to complete my redemption, and I shall relish the challenge.

In my masochistic ways, I have already subjected mine self to two sessions of physical persecution (spin classes), and have taken advantage of sunny days, sunny days, sunny days with two journey's atop me two wheeled apparatus (the road bike I borrowed from Carolyn).

I pledge to you, Lord Armstrong, to never divert from thine path ever again.

Maybe.

All I ask, my Lord, is that you command your disciples to reach deep into their spirits and bequeath but a few notes of currency to support the Princess Margaret Hospital slay the biggest dragon of them all.

Time is running out! Please click on the link above and donate!