Smedium: New Clothes Sizes for Cyclists

I Propose A New Size

“Where’s your ass?” my wife asked.  “I know you have a butt, a nice butt, but I don’t see it.”  Apparently my caboose got derailed in these 33W X 33L jeans I’m wearing.  I think I pulled them off the hanger from the pre-vegan section of my closet.  Maybe I’ve slightly neglected my personal sex appeal over 14 years of marriage, but my wife deserves to see my fine cyclocross sculpted rear bumper.  Two days later, the golden e-mail hit her smartphone, “Tonight only, 40% off at Banana Republic.”  It was mutually decided, skip the easy Monday night at the gym for an hour or two doing dressing room gymnastics.  Oh boy, it got gymnastical.

With four plaid collared button down dress shirts, a baby blue merino wool sweater and a long-john-esque “waffled” long sleeve tee, Joe or Nick or Kevin or one of the Jonas Brothers working at Banana Republic showed me to my stall.  As far as the button downs, I’m upset to report I’m a size Smedium.  From the last time I bought nice shirts and today, I’ve probably lost 12-15 pounds.  Staring in the mirror with the medium, I could gather 5-6 inches of fabric around my middle.  Dammit, it took me months of intervals and hummus to earn this waist.  I want to show it off.  So with the hesitation of a former large, I slipped on the small. 

Hmm...not too poochy in the small.

I could sort of see the last uncyclocrossed remnants of my pooch showing.  I’m not 6-pack sculpted, more of a two-pack.  Like the woman in the dressing room next to me, I went back and forth between the two sizes: small, medium, small, medium.  “Welcome to my world,” I could hear my wife saying.  I spent so much time in that dressing room with so many items I wondered if the Jonas Brother was getting suspicious of shoplifting.  I opted for the small, yet still puzzled.  Why do pants come in so many different sizes stores practically need a card catalog to organize the shelves by size and style, yet shirts at Banana Republic have only four sizes for men, small through XL?  So there’s my case for Smedium (SM) and Mediarge (ML).

As for the jeans, I walked into the store saggin’ no ass pre-vegan 33 squares, 33W x 33L.  Going sub-33 was new territory for me, so I sent Jonas ahead, armed with 32’s, 31’s and even a pair of 30’s.  The 32’s were clown pants.  I hooked the waist with my thumbs.  I could probably shove 3 summer sausages down the front of them.  The butt looked like denim drapery.  So I got extreme.  Wiggling and shimmying, I had to get gymnastical to get the 30’s on.  Beyond surprised, they buttoned right up and fell flat on the hips.  However, the thighs were so tight they could double as muscle recovery wear.  It’s the cyclists curse. 

Those Quads Need A Belt

You ride your butt off, try to eat healthy and lose weight, but your newly acquired Andre’ Greipel in training quads and hammies get so big you need to opt for the larger size.  I walked out of the dressing room without pants, new pants, and this thought.  I propose adding three dimensional sizing to men's pants.  The “T” could mean thigh or tree-trunk, or for skinny people, tent pole.  Instead of 31W x 33L, for those with 20 inch hams like me, we’d have 30W x 33L x 21T.  One way or another, my wife deserves to oogle my ass.

A Case for Extreme Cyclocross Couponing

I may need to get a 3-ring binder, a set of Fiskars and read up on extreme couponing.  Getting ready for cyclocross is similar to getting a shopping list together.  “How are we on T.P.?  Are you good on tires?  Deodorant?  How 'bout cassettes?  The shaving cream feels a little light.  What’s that bar tape look like?"  The way it went last night, I’m gonna need two shopping carts at BioWheels bike shop, or a cyclocross intervention.

I pulled the IF Planet X off the hook, wheels out of their bags and took an inventory of needed parts.  Unlike the clippy-clip obsessed people on TLC, I do not have a shelf of fresh cyclocross tires piled next to 97 tubes of Colgate toothpaste and 43 boxes of Rice A Roni in my garage, but that would be super cool wouldn’t it?  At least I have a Groupon for the shop, a generous team discount and free reign of the BioWheels workshop.  However, I’m not going to get two cart loads of parts for $1.56 after coupons.  This is precisely the reason I told my wife I didn’t need any new clothes when she mentioned the sale at Banana Republic a few weeks ago.  I’d go naked to race cross.  Thankfully, she’s well aware of that weakness, is quick to point out holes in my t-shirts and is an extreme Grouponer.

It’s that awkward time of year when a cyclocrosser has to make the decision to ignore the rest of the summer races and focus on a season that’ll go through December, January if you plan on racing Nationals.  I should be writing out the racing calendar and back dating a training plan to this week, an empty rest week dedicated to gearing up and focusing on cyclocross season.  Instead I got lured into a Sunday mountain bike race and am intrigued by the criterium tonight.  There’s a devil on one shoulder and an angel on the other.  Please Angel of CX, help me do this.

It barely shifted.  I haven’t ridden this bike since the Sub 9 Death March months ago.  I spun through the gears and adjusted the derailleur.  Like an old man with bourbon, I hit it with lube and exercised its joints back into functionality.  I pumped tires.  The Fango held, although the tread is loose in two places.  The Griffo wore out my triceps.  With sweat dotting the garage floor and freddies forming in my armpits, the gauge would not top 20 pounds and returned to zero quickly.  I unscrewed the valve stem and poured in sealant.  The pump squeaked.  My arms throbbed.  Then I saw the horror of sealant bubbles.  Help me Oprah.  Save me Tom Cruise.  It must have a half dozen pin holes in it.  I marked the holes, hit it with more sealant and, as if it were alive, let it sit overnight in hopes that it will heal on its own.  I know I’ll need two new tires, a 12-27 cassette, tire glue, a chain, cables, housing, bar tape, some swanky white Hudz, an oversized shopping cart and a good line when the credit car bill arrives.