Sometimes I give advice in topics about which I have absolutely no business advising anyone. Sometimes I'm pressed into it: Someone thinks I know something about some topic on which I'm about as well-versed as Hon. Dana Rohrabacher is on atmospheric science. Other times, I think I know more about something than I actually do, or--believe it or not ;-)--lose sight of that (very thin!) line that separates my opinions from facts.
When people assume I know more than I actually do about something, they ask--and I give advice--about dating, family relationships, how to deal with co-workers and bosses, love, education, politics, fashion, careers or the existence of God(s). When I think I know more than I actually do, I find myself giving advice about any and all of those topics, as well as health and almost any academic subject. (I hope my department chair isn't reading this!) And, of course, when I start conflating my opinions with knowledge, I start advising people about cycling equipment!
There is, however, at least one area in which I never have given, and do not plan to give, advice.
Even when I was skinny and in excellent condition, I never presumed to tell any cyclist--or anyone else--what or how he or she should eat. It's not for lack of knowledge: I know, probably, as much as any layperson about nutrition--current notions as well as almost any from the past 40 years or so. Nor is it from any noble desire to do good or not to do harm. Rather, my reticence about proffering nutritional advice has more to do with the fact that I would have trouble doing such a thing with a straight face.
No matter what kind of advice I might give on the subject, I would be a hypocrite. Even when my body-mass index was lower than my age, my diet would have appalled just about any nutritionist--whether of the orthodox, holistic or any other variety. Not only did--do--I eat pretty much whatever I liked, whenever I wanted it, I gulped exactly the things we were told not to touch when riding, or ever.
Now, in my defense, I'll say that while I was on bike tours, I was more interested in sampling the local fare than I was in maintaining a regimen that would keep me at my maximum efficiency. (You would be, too, unless you were in a race!) So, while in Europe, I downed lots of bread and cheese and dark chocolate--though, to be fair, I also ate plenty of fresh fruits and vegetables I picked up from roadside stands and farmers' markets.
So..when I should have been gnawing on Power Bars or downing Energy Gels, I munched on jambon-beurre all over France. In fact, one j-b I ate in a truck stop between Menton and Frejus--more than thirty years ago--remains one of the best sandwiches I've ever had. Hey, if a place like that can elevate something with three ingredients--a demi-baguette, ham and butter--to an art-form, why in the world would you want a Clif Bar?
But my food choices while cycling have not always been even that elevated. I was reminded of that today when, before starting a ride to Coney Island, I ate something I haven't had in a while: Pop Tarts.
Yes, I admit it! In fact, for a time, I never left for a ride without tucking one of those packets with two 'tarts into my jersey pocket or Camel Back. My riding buddies were doing the same, especially when rumbled up and down the trails in Vermont and upstate.
What made them so popular with our sub-segment of the mountain biking community in those days--about two decades ago--was the "rush" we got practically the second we swallowed a bite of one. Especially from frosted brown-sugar cinnamon Pop Tarts: I think they contained every kind of sugar ever concocted in a food processing plant!
Today I ate two cherry 'tarts'. I was always partial to them, and to the blueberry and strawberry ones. Then again, it's hard to go wrong with any of those fruits. But coming up with the brown-sugar cinnamon tarts was a real accomplishment. As far as I know, neither the UCI nor the Olympic Committee has banned them!
I hear that now there's a whole-grain version. Does that assuage your guilt?
When people assume I know more than I actually do about something, they ask--and I give advice--about dating, family relationships, how to deal with co-workers and bosses, love, education, politics, fashion, careers or the existence of God(s). When I think I know more than I actually do, I find myself giving advice about any and all of those topics, as well as health and almost any academic subject. (I hope my department chair isn't reading this!) And, of course, when I start conflating my opinions with knowledge, I start advising people about cycling equipment!
There is, however, at least one area in which I never have given, and do not plan to give, advice.
Even when I was skinny and in excellent condition, I never presumed to tell any cyclist--or anyone else--what or how he or she should eat. It's not for lack of knowledge: I know, probably, as much as any layperson about nutrition--current notions as well as almost any from the past 40 years or so. Nor is it from any noble desire to do good or not to do harm. Rather, my reticence about proffering nutritional advice has more to do with the fact that I would have trouble doing such a thing with a straight face.
No matter what kind of advice I might give on the subject, I would be a hypocrite. Even when my body-mass index was lower than my age, my diet would have appalled just about any nutritionist--whether of the orthodox, holistic or any other variety. Not only did--do--I eat pretty much whatever I liked, whenever I wanted it, I gulped exactly the things we were told not to touch when riding, or ever.
Now, in my defense, I'll say that while I was on bike tours, I was more interested in sampling the local fare than I was in maintaining a regimen that would keep me at my maximum efficiency. (You would be, too, unless you were in a race!) So, while in Europe, I downed lots of bread and cheese and dark chocolate--though, to be fair, I also ate plenty of fresh fruits and vegetables I picked up from roadside stands and farmers' markets.
So..when I should have been gnawing on Power Bars or downing Energy Gels, I munched on jambon-beurre all over France. In fact, one j-b I ate in a truck stop between Menton and Frejus--more than thirty years ago--remains one of the best sandwiches I've ever had. Hey, if a place like that can elevate something with three ingredients--a demi-baguette, ham and butter--to an art-form, why in the world would you want a Clif Bar?
But my food choices while cycling have not always been even that elevated. I was reminded of that today when, before starting a ride to Coney Island, I ate something I haven't had in a while: Pop Tarts.
Yes, I admit it! In fact, for a time, I never left for a ride without tucking one of those packets with two 'tarts into my jersey pocket or Camel Back. My riding buddies were doing the same, especially when rumbled up and down the trails in Vermont and upstate.
What made them so popular with our sub-segment of the mountain biking community in those days--about two decades ago--was the "rush" we got practically the second we swallowed a bite of one. Especially from frosted brown-sugar cinnamon Pop Tarts: I think they contained every kind of sugar ever concocted in a food processing plant!
Today I ate two cherry 'tarts'. I was always partial to them, and to the blueberry and strawberry ones. Then again, it's hard to go wrong with any of those fruits. But coming up with the brown-sugar cinnamon tarts was a real accomplishment. As far as I know, neither the UCI nor the Olympic Committee has banned them!
I hear that now there's a whole-grain version. Does that assuage your guilt?
