There's a woman in my office who thinks I'm odd not just because I ride to work all year, but also because I eat the same lean lunch nearly every day. She made a wisecrack yesterday about my size. At least it was a flattering comment—she joked that her left leg probably weighs more than I do.
I looked at her and said, "Uh, how much do you think I weigh?"
"Mmm, about 165," she replied.
I haven't seen 165 since about 1978.
She's not nuts; people usually think I'm a lot lighter than I am, unless they've waited for me at the top of a hill. I guess it pays to be tall and spread out the weight.
I'm a Clydesdale. That's life.
Small people smoke me on climbs.
Damn you, small people.