oral fixation

Yesterday, I almost couldn't wait to dump my face into food after a mere 30 miles. And I did.
Because I took a friend, Matt, on my recently discovered 40 mile route. We met early to throw down a few miles; he on a geared bike, kitted out, and looking every part the serious roadie [minus the shorn legs]. Me on the Bianchi, messenger bag strapped to my back, but jersey-fied and sporting a new CB hat. We made an odd combo and I almost cringed at how I must look - the novice female friend with ill-equipped bike, sans kit, struggling to keep up with the more seasoned male cyclist [despite the fact that Matt's more runner than cyclist].
And was I struggling. The first time I've ridden that route with another person, I was throwing all kinds of things into my mouth.

Matt set a quick pace and while we alternated drafting, he predictably dropped me at almost every climb. 10 miles in and I knew my knee wasn't going to hold up. So before the mile-long thigh juicer of a climb, I stopped to pop an Aleve [don't hate], and then watched as Matt became a small white speck, the "Boston College" emblazoned on his ass mocking my pathetic efforts.
We climbed, rode, swerved around potholes, and bumped into two members of the Harvard Cycling Club. I held on for about 3 whole minutes before getting dropped [again]. But with 2 miles to Arlington, I caught sight of a couple that had passed us a few minutes ago. Getting my second wind, I decided I was going to catch up and cling on. Nose nearly on my stem, curled up in my drops, I stubbornly refused to let them shake me. They probably thought I was completely insane. But hey, Matt and I ended up making it to Arlington in record time.

We stretched a little and then headed back to Waltham to refuel. And finding Wilson's Diner, we gulped down cups of coffee and calories in the form of blueberry pancakes [for me], and eggs, hash, and homefries [for Matt].

We rolled home, me mostly drained of energy. I spent the next few hours sitting at my desk, trying to regain the feeling in my legs. And between eating a few more things, I passed out on my bed, screened, and stitched.
And today, it's breakfast on the run, lunch in the office, and dinner between a run and more stitching. My summer job starts today. Not that that's going to get in the way of my munching, pedaling, or sweatshopping.
...Especially the munching.

farmer's tans

"Nice tan you got going on there," Chris said as I casually walked into the mechanic's floor of IBC.
I knew the tank top was a mistake. You can clearly see how pale my shoulders are in comparison to my arms, and then that arm tan gets cut off into the glove tan around my wrists. As if the thigh-calf tri-tan wasn't enough. Now I'm starting to just look splotchy.
I was trying to nip the problem in the bud by going downtown in a sleeveless top that day. And sporting a clear farmer's tan, I obviously had to stop by the Copley Square Farmer's Market. From May to October, on Tuesdays and Fridays, vendors pitch tents and sell yummy, fresh produce, baked goods, and jams, meats, and cheese. Fridays last summer meant hopping on my bike to stuff my bag full of zucchini, corn, juicy tomatoes, and crisp bell peppers.

And it's not just the produce. I remembered a loaf of just-sweet-enough banana bread purchased last summer. It was huge, and took days to polish off; but it never dried out. I almost expected it to be too sweet, something that i'll eat in skinny slivers with several glasses of water. Instead, I nom nom nom-ed away at it in thick slices, consciously resisting its pleading to be eaten before, after, and in between meals.
Spotting that same banana bread, I remembered some people who would be on their feet all day, fixing bikes. People who will undoubtedly appreciate banana bread. Propping my bike up with a hip, I squeezed myself into Breadsong booth, I grabbed two - yes, two - loaves, and nestled them on top of all the other junk in my bag before I biked back out west. Biked towards my homes. All three.

The smaller loaf went to Pete and JT at Boston Bikes, then I made a brief stop at home [as in the place where I sleep] before heading to IBC. The nice weather meant that everyone there was working and swamped with customers. The bread was slipped on a side counter; nutrition for when busy friends can sneak in a mouthful of food between customers.

I almost regret not cutting a piece off for myself, but those loaves will be on display every Friday. And this year I'm rocking a Baileyworks that's way bigger than the small Chrome bag I was using last summer. Take that to its logical conclusion and you'll know where to find me on Friday evenings, between 5pm and 6pm.