This is me.
Disregarding the Assos attire specially made for cyclists from the outer dimensions of our galaxy, the real revelation to me is the dazzling whiteness from the mouth area.
It feels good to be seeing changes.
Over the past several months, I have been vigorously brushing my teeth day, noon and night with none other but Crest whitening toothpaste. Crest holds a special place in my heart. Crest reminds me of the top of a steep cobbled climb, like in the Ronde Van Vlaanderen. Well, that's what 'crest' is supposed to mean anyway. Moreover, being ready to take a stage victory in my non-professional cycling life means that anytime, anywhere, I must be fully prepared dentally to accept flashes from multitudes of hopeless one megapixel camera phones with the spectators.
My other fancies are chews. You see, for me, it is the beginning of Flahute. Expressing a nonchalant chewy look to your riding partner as you both climb a 20% gradient hill makes me feel good and look cool, before I run deeply out of breath and almost become a corpse chasing him on the flats.
It keeps my mouth damp as I shoot like a rocket downhill at 60 mph. And if some motorist shows his luck by throwing a water filled balloon at me as he passes in his vehicle, I can feel lucky as well by directly mouth-aiming the shoddy gum right back at his passengers. They'll then be appropriately beating him up for the humiliation of traveling in his car, and it becomes none of my business from that point on.
It behooves me at this stage to point out that apart from smelly oils, creams for discreet areas, and magic potions for energy, it is a good idea to use dentally approved toothpaste to clean your teeth. In all Euroness, Americanness, and worldiness, it is a basic.
Sure, psychologically you could scare the eyeballs out of your rivals with snake-like veins jutting out from your calves, and bronze sculpted pistons that are your thighs.
But I must say that arriving to a race with a disgusting orifice in the form of your mouth, inlaid (un)meticulously with golden chipped teeth and hemmed by ungodly torn lips all from within which spew out caustic, toxic breath doesn't make you a feared competitive cyclist. You essentially become a terrifying ogre at that point.
Fellow cyclists will flee and registration stalls with be shut down. The area will then be taped and closed out by the FBI for contaminated air spillage.
Cyclists! Don't just prepare mentally. Prepare dentally.
And now my good friend from over there will affirm the goodness of whitening chews.
Sunday, October 19, 2008
This is me.