It is dumping rain; a miserably cold rain exacerbated by the early-afternoon darkness of November. The windshield-wipers couldn’t keep up. In a warm car, I was rushing home to get on the trainer before dinner. Through the haze there is a blinkie up ahead. “No way,” I thought, “someone is riding home in this crap…Are they serious?”
A decision awaits.
Drive by? Or ask?
I cracked the window just enough to ask, “pretty rough out…hey?”
From behind the rain-soaked wrappings a cold and familiar face proudly proclaims, “Hey doc, what’s up? You race CX, so I know you ride in this stuff too…I am seeing you next week.”
Wow, I thought. “Good for you, be careful.”
Days later, in the office, he tells me that I changed his life. Looking down at the chart to see whether he had an ablation, which he had not, I looked up at him. Before I could ask how, he offered…
“Months ago you told me…no one who rides a bike should be as fat as you are…You were right.”
A thinner more confident young man was before me.
“How’s your AF?” I asked, as this was the reason for the office visit.
“It is gone.”
“But we stopped your medicine; it should be worse,”
“I am different now.”