Body by M.A.T.

Cut the fat and sculpt yourself into a svelte new you in just twenty minutes a day with the revolutionary Multimodal Activity Training (M.A.T.) system.

Here's the amazing story of how I, Steel-Cut, developed this extraordinary fitness regimen without the necessity of buying expensive fitness equipment made from space-age polymers. In fact, all you need is an ordinary pair of running shoes and your gym clothes! How's that for a clever achiever?

Everyone is busy. With responsibilities at home and work, who has time to workout anymore? Well, the secret in the MAT system is that you actually use a portion of your work commute time for personal fitness. In doing so, you not only save time and money, but you literally shape yourself into a new you while commuting to/from work.

With Body by M.A.T, it's as easy as one, two three!
1) Plan your route with the high tech MAT Trip Planner
2) Leave the car at home! Get to work by carpool or bus for $1.25.
3) At the end of the workday, change into your fitness gear and take the bus for a portion of your ride home. Now here's the important part: GET OFF THE BUS BEFORE YOUR NORMAL STOP. Proceed to walk or jog lightly home. Try a mile at first, then gradually increase the distance each week.

You can also bring your bicycle on the bus and increase the distance of your commute. One day, you may even decide to forgo the bus altogether!

Testimonial
When I was a kid, I was so skinny from riding my bike around town that I had to run around in the shower just to get wet. But later in life, I swallowed a lot McRibs with my aggressions. So I began working out. More Later, I found that I hated weight lifting and switched to racing bicycles. Even more later-er, I discovered that I really liked golf. So I let things go again and was beginning to wonder if John Daly and I were separated at birth. My wife noticed, too, because she said that she had a secret thing for chubby guys. And you know, I could tell that my wife was really liking me more. So life was great. I was fat and happy. Wait -- what is this about? Right. Anyway, so it was about that time that I noticed in a photo that I could no longer see that freakish vein in my neck. In fact, my neck looked like a stuffed sausage (which only woke my hunger). I decided to do something about it. Yeah, I heard about this Body by M.A.T system. I thought like, how stupid. Nobody takes the bus, right? But I tried it and went from chubby hubby to ripped in one session. Yes, I'm on the bike again, but I'm crushing whitey with the big stick, I've got extra energy in the evening nudge-nudge-wink-wink and I'm like inhaling McRibs faster than they can stamp 'em out. No regrets. And so I say, "Thank you Mr. Steel-Cut, Sir!" (now I want my two dollars) --F.H.

With anything related to FH, YMMV

So there you have it folks, a satisfied customer. Get out there and give it a try.

Next week: bus-bench crunches

Gibson's Pants

I grew up in Kirkwood, MO, a St. Louis suburb not unlike Omaha's Dundee. I went to a Catholic grade school. We had ordinary teachers, priests and nuns. We wore uniforms of navy blue corduroy pants and light blue collared shirts. Playground moms volunteered as recess supervisors and then returned for carpools in the afternoon with the catholic cruiser: a Pontiac/Buick/Oldsmobile station wagon. Looking back at those days is like reading the book of Genesis before Adam took the apple from Eve. It was a highly protected, orderly and a loving atmosphere where no child was left behind.

All of that goodness came to an end one day. I had just finished my lunch --PB&J, apple slices and a thermos of milk from my Kung Fu lunch box -- and had run along to join my second grade classmates for recess kickball. Though it was a warm spring day, the air had a foul odor to it. In the rock garden not far from the chapel, I summoned up the courage to ask a big fourth-grader, Steve Doyle, why it smelled so bad outside. His reply was abject and cold: "Gibson shit his pants."

Paradise lost. Doyle was the first kid that I heard cuss openly on those hallowed grounds. Suddenly, an awareness of my innocence was gone. It was as if we were all like crapped-his-pants-Gibson, having filth all over us. Poor us. Poor Gibson.

Although he later went on to do doctorate work in Biology, primary school was a hellacious proving ground for Gibson. I'm pretty sure every school has one like him. He's the kid whose pen was perpetually exploding in his mouth, who threw up all over his desk (and collaterally into the girl's hair seated in front of him), or as mentioned, who crapped his pants at recess. Of course, he was ridiculed by me and the rest of his classmates. Yet with vomit strands dangling squarish potato cubes from his chin, or smelling like a hamper full of dirty diapers, Gibson carried on courageously with his dignity in tact.

Anyway, I thought of Gibson yesterday during my ten mile run.

Although I took precaution by eating wisely and and visiting the toilet beforehand, I soon discovered that my GI tract had other plans.

Initially, I thought it was just gas. What usually works in this situation is to slow down and -- if you're a gentleman -- check over your shoulder/drop to the back of the pack in a group before let one squeak out. Anyhow, I tried this and it was nearly disastrous. Like Gibson. Whew! I still had eight miles to go!

While avoiding dumping in my pants, I was still feeling acutely awful. Fortunately, the port-a-potty in Elmwood saved the day. It was a godsend: no line, clean and plenty of T.P. What at a relief.

Gibson was like the Biblical goat driven out of town to carry away all of the wickedness of the group. If you're reading this, Gibson, I am sorry for those days. Even more, I will say this: as a second grader, you possessed more courage and grace than I'll ever have.

More Humbling

August 2007. I had recently purchased my first bicycle as an adult. I predicated on the decision for weeks, debating between the utility of a road bike vs racing triathlons on a time trial bike. In the end, racing won out as I purchased a Cervelo p2sl.

So I had a new bike. I was the shizznit and was in sensory overload. Crisp shifting from the 10 speed Dura-Ace group, the supple hum of 220 TPI Vittoria rubber on the tarmac and a sleek jet-black paint job edit: anodized finish shredded any sense of buyer's remorse.

Meanwhile, Old Yeller was in shambles. Its STI shifter controlling the rear derailleur had lost its ability to index, effectively reducing it to a triple ring three speed. Yeller's fate was still undecided as it hung on a hook in the garage. Not that it mattered. I really wasn't interested in riding it much since purchasing the p2sl.

So without a road bike, the p2sl was it. I rode it everywhere - on group rides, commuting to work, whatever. I never hoozier-stooped to wearing cutoff jeans while on it, but I did have my share of embarrassing moments in those early days. Still do. Here are a couple that I'm aware of:

1) Lights
If you happen to be a first time owner of a time trial bike, don't make the mistake of visiting your local bike shop and asking what type of light you can affix to an aero seat tube. Geez - what a freaking newb! Perhaps I should have asked for a clip-on generator for the back wheel to complete the set. Anyway, I did this. They made no effort to conceal their laughter from behind the counter.

Is Shim still here? Good riddance. Let's go on to #2

2) Track Stand
When the bike is so new that the tires haven't even worn off their nubs, you think you're invincible. This is especially true on a time trial bike. You're not.

Again -- having only one bike -- I brought the p2sl to work for a group ride drop-fest over the lunch hour. Fortunately, Fred suggested the airport loop, which is perfect for time trials. Thanks Fred. I was licking my chops and ready to feast.

A total hammerfest ensued for the next thirty minutes. To Fred's credit, he not only hung on but even pulled some. Those were the days when he was riding lots, had a high golf handicap and probably didn't mind converting bytes and string vectors very much.

Anyhow, after basking in an elevated state of self-aggrandizement for the better part of an hour, fate had its way of pulling me back down to earth. While waiting for the light to change at the corner of 24th and Cuming, I had the p2sl balanced in a neat track stand with a Munson head-wag or two to underscore the moment. When the light changed, I applied pressure to the crank and slipped the chain right off the big ring. Did I clip out to recover gracefully? On my day of glory? Preposterous! I was intent on riding this thing out. So in a desperate act of futility, I spun the crank up to about 180 RPM as gravity slowly keeled me and my brand-spanking-new TT bike right over. (If this was a scene in a movie, you'd see the Titanic's orchestra playing music while riding unicycles all around me.) What a jerk. As I lay beneath the p2sl, the group I had toasted only minutes before pulled away. I believe I heard Fred call back, "No...this way, Brady".

Ahhh yes. Delicious, sweet humble pie.

Bonk

During yesterday's warm spell, I got out for a two hour solo ride on Old Yeller. The warm and sunny weather had me giddy. As a result, I spun it out too quickly and was burning through the carbs at a fast rate. Turning back south at Ft Calhoun brought me into a modest headwind through Boyer's Chute. The fuel tank was getting near empty. By the time I crested the Ponca Hills bluffs, I was running on fumes. At that point, the ride time was 75 minutes. From my running days, I would begin to go into glycogen debt right around this time. I was on schedule.

In the biking world, bonking means a total exhaustion caused by lack of sufficient food during a long race or ride. Everyone has different thresholds. I suppose that I have a fast metabolism that is not very efficient on longer rides.

The only way to correct the condition is to restore the blood sugar (glycogen) levels. Eat. I craved a pop tart. Gatorade would have been nice. Visions of a Dagwood Bumstead style sandwich were swimming in my head. But I had only water. As a result, it was up to my liver to reach into the body's fat stores and begin converting the fats into sugar.

It's a humbling experience and I struggled for the remaining thirty minutes of my ride home. Like, small ring & 23 tooth for a whopping 9 MPH on Cuming Street. And when low on glycogen, the brain's in a fog. In fact, the only time it comes into focus is when something courageously bubbles up into the consciousness, like, "YOU SUCK!!"

There aren't too many things more humbling on bicycle than experiencing exhaustion. I imaging crashing in a time trial would come close; maybe being dropped in the middle of nowhere on a group ride.

What do you think - is there anything more humbling than bonking on a bicycle?

Breaking the Ice

Enough is enough - time to break the ice on this thing.

Although it was -8°F this morning, I read Redd-Shift's blog and became inspired to commute into work by bicycle.

As a new cycling commuter, Scott has fully embraced the commuting by bike lifestyle. Over the past year, he not only purchased his first bicycle as an adult, but has steadily added equipment and clothing as the nights have gotten longer and colder. I got to hand it to him, if he can do it, just about anyone can.

Over the past few years, I've slowly chipped away at my cycling discomfort zone. And so with Redd-shift's inspiration and repeating the mantra, "You can do it!" (think Schwarzenegger), I peddled the Nishiki Project into the snot-freezing cold this morning.

Having never ridden a road bike in the snow, I was surprised how much traction the 27 1/4 slicks mounted to the rail car wheelset got on packed powder streets. I imagine that it also helped having the panniers over the back wheel for extra weight. Perhaps I'll bungee a $3 sandbag back there too next time. Here's what I've learned so far:

How to Survive a Commute by Bike at -8°F
1) Wear layered clothing* & Ski goggles when snowing or < 10°F
2) Avoid riding in snow or slush during rush hour
3) Pick the safest route possible if roads have snow/slush/ice
4) When possible, avoid brown stuff (slush). Use low gear for power
5) Be vigilant about bumps and potholes
6) Allow for extra braking distance; go slow on downhills.
7) Maintain straight lines as much as possible; ease through turns
8) Be extra cautious while sharing the road in snow or slush

*For the record: beneath helmet, I wore a skull cap and PI balaclava, ski goggles, craft thermal top, long sleeve tech shirt, woolie, full shell wind breaker, glove liners and PI Lobsters, Craft thermal leggings, amfib bibs, a pair of smart wool socks, mountain shoes and amfib booties. The toes were the only uncomfortable point.

Thankfully, I managed to make it to work without an incident. Keep on riding - You caan do eeeeet!