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It is said that repeating an action and expecting a different result is a sign of insanity. I contend that repeating an action knowing full well what the result is going to be each time, and that result is always going to be bad, is a sign of stupidity! Mongo is guilty of carrying some short-bus DNA.
I love pizza! Next to ice cream and chicks, it's my favorite thing in the world. When I eat it, I tend to eat large quantities. I whip myself into a carb-deprived trance while channeling the gluttonous spirits of Henry VIII and Jabba the Hutt... until I have gorged myself to the point of shame and self-loathing. This usually happens on a Sunday afternoon when I have nothing to do afterwards other than whimper and gather together the reading materials for the marathon, mildly lactose intolerant, bathroom session that is sure to come.
Occasionally, Mongo will go off the grid and eat pizza, much smaller volume, prior to a ride that same day. It always ends horribly!...My legs feel like molasses, my stomach is bloated, and I can't generate any power. I probably put such a strain on my body digesting the large quantities of cheese and dough that it can't have any blood left to pump oxygen to my muscles. I know this!!! I've done it at least three times with bad results...yet occasionally my hubris leads me to believe it will be different the next time.
Let's cut to the chase!
Yesterday at noon, Mongo consumed an entire medium, Dominos chicken pizza. At five fifteen, Mongo pedaled out of his driveway on the way to the start of the 23/2300 Hammerfest. At five fifteen and ten seconds, Mongo knew he was in trouble.
It was a fast ride with all the big guns in attendance...and even on a good day, Mongo would be in the bottom third of this peloton. I hung tough all ride but was no threat to anyone at any time. I thought about throwing out a pre-ride excuse at the pre-ride excusathon that takes place in every parking lot before every ride, but I held back...both the excuse and the acid reflux that would be bombarding my sinuses for the rest of the day.
I love pizza! Next to ice cream and chicks, it's my favorite thing in the world. When I eat it, I tend to eat large quantities. I whip myself into a carb-deprived trance while channeling the gluttonous spirits of Henry VIII and Jabba the Hutt... until I have gorged myself to the point of shame and self-loathing. This usually happens on a Sunday afternoon when I have nothing to do afterwards other than whimper and gather together the reading materials for the marathon, mildly lactose intolerant, bathroom session that is sure to come.
Occasionally, Mongo will go off the grid and eat pizza, much smaller volume, prior to a ride that same day. It always ends horribly!...My legs feel like molasses, my stomach is bloated, and I can't generate any power. I probably put such a strain on my body digesting the large quantities of cheese and dough that it can't have any blood left to pump oxygen to my muscles. I know this!!! I've done it at least three times with bad results...yet occasionally my hubris leads me to believe it will be different the next time.
Let's cut to the chase!
Yesterday at noon, Mongo consumed an entire medium, Dominos chicken pizza. At five fifteen, Mongo pedaled out of his driveway on the way to the start of the 23/2300 Hammerfest. At five fifteen and ten seconds, Mongo knew he was in trouble.
It was a fast ride with all the big guns in attendance...and even on a good day, Mongo would be in the bottom third of this peloton. I hung tough all ride but was no threat to anyone at any time. I thought about throwing out a pre-ride excuse at the pre-ride excusathon that takes place in every parking lot before every ride, but I held back...both the excuse and the acid reflux that would be bombarding my sinuses for the rest of the day.
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