In every way I was determined to lose weight, and by now I used the machines at the gym, however slow my progress was, it meant something to me that I could push forward, through the occasional binge.
The loneliness stuck deep, and the evaporation of even a passing dream of my crush had struck deeper, but I plowed ahead, and with it, came to me an idea to travel to Seven Springs.
Just as I had began a marathon and finished last, so too came these championships for which simply cycling everywhere and the occasional off-track bout could not prepare for me.
Endurance, perhaps; skill with the bicycle, naught. My attitude dropped when I arrived, and with much mumbling and glares was I red faced, struggling to imagine how anyone could finish with a smile.
By chance, my mom had got a shift off, and she clapped to help me into the car, and passed me bottled water and a towel. The bicycle clanked on the grip on the back of the PT Loser.
"I'm serious, hon," smiled she, driving slowly, "I admire ya, the way you just go for it."
I stared at her.
"I'm not doing this as a choice, mom. I'm doing it because I have no other choice."
My mom tutted, and I glanced out the window and glowered.
By now, my younger brother was starting his third season, and had long since bought his own place. I had avoided the trips he went on, especially to Mardi Gras because of who he had invited.
One night, when my younger brother's girlfriend called and said they were coming back from LA, I told her I'd only make a quick visit.
After all, she was the one who had motivated me into exercise. Proper exercise. More than that, motivation. She was my anchor.
I cycled up to the automatic gate, and input the code. Trees waved from above, and the darkening sky was lit with stars. Cameramen were abuzz, filming skateboarders grinding and leaping, and inside, my mom was helping the caterers cook a feast.
When the episode had wrapped, I sat around the banquet table draped in black and purple, stirring the food round my plate, always flicking my gaze to anyone I could spy glancing over at me.
Torn between catching them and fulfilling my cravings, it was a hard battle.
My mom washed dishes, my younger brother's girlfriend dried dishes, and I put away, and when my mom drove my dad home, it was just me and my younger brother's girlfriend.
"Come on," she squeezed my arm, "If it blows, I'll drive you back myself."
"You don't have a bike rack on your car."
She did not let this budge her. She led me upstairs, where my younger brother and his skateboard friends were grouped around the fireplace, on sofas and beanbags. They glanced up as we arrived.
It was difficult, at first; but as time passed, it became easier to sit there and listen. The balcony sliding door open and shut when people went outside to smoke, and then others went outside to skate in the dark. My younger brother shot up, insisting a night out at Rex's, and this emptied the house.
My younger brother's girlfriend, relieved at last to have a quiet bubble bath, showed me to a spare room which she had hastily set up, one corner of the fitted sheet having sprung off, one of the bedside lamps off.
"No one really stays in here," said she, bending over to plug it in. "You're safe, ok? They won't be back till dawn. If you need me, just knock."
I smiled and took a shower in the guest bathroom; she had my younger brother's ensuite all to herself. It was a luxury, and we watched a movie together, and she often flipped open her phone in case my brother called, too drunk to drive. It was her secret getaway. To me, I began to feel as if I had missed out on so much, by shunning her friendship, by avoiding this life; and I felt a pit in my stomach to wonder at what point I would let myself relax this way, and whether I had missed too much already.