I just can’t get enough of the darn things. Fujis, McIntoshes, Granny Smiths, makes no difference. I cut them in half and make a V-shaped divot on each hemi-globe, ejecting the core. Then I eat them little babies just as is, or with a slice of cheddar or muenster, or even a little goat cheese.

I never thought much of apples before. I liked applesauce, and apple juice, and of course apple pie, but it wasn’t until age 42 that I got religion on apples themselves. I also started seriously training again at 42 and I reckon this is no coincidence. My hypothalamus, perhaps, said something to a neuroreceptor, which passed a note to my adrenal cortex, which rang up my liver, which emailed my left brain, which in turn forced my right hand into my back pocket and out came my wallet for a bag of apples.

This follows an attack I had this past summer that resulted in my toting home different makes and models of melons in the back of my pickup. Honeydews, Crenshaw melons, Escondido goldens, more than I could eat, and I ate them until the melon season was over.

It isn’t just the taste. It is the whole transaction. I feel good when I eat an apple. I don’t have to tell myself that I’m eating something good for me. My body KNOWS it. My mouth knows it. My whole brain knows it, left and right.

But I don’t reach for the apple when I’m not training regularly (cycling, especially). When I’ve fallen off the wagon for some reason my stomach, I think, whispers to some other organ which releases some hormone that forces me to go to this place that serves cheeseburgers with chili on top. When I go to get the burger I feel like I’m doing something I shouldn’t, and as I walk in the front door I look around to see if anybody notices me. Not that I’m liable to see anybody in there I know, and if I am busted, the person busting me is reverse-busted since I’ve seen them as well. This place is infested with the same crowd you find at traffic school. These people don’t belong to me, and I don’t belong here. What am I doing here, anyway?

The trick is to make sure that the Good Dan is in control every day. One day at a time. No backsliding. But I can’t make this a function of willpower. I have none of that. I’ve got to avoid known pitfalls, and to remember certain things. Like the 2 a.m. thing. Many men wake up at 2 a.m. I don’t know about women. But there are quite a few men who wake up at this time of night to worry. I know when I’m awake in the wee hours that I’m not alone—there’s a silent throng of men staring skyward counting the little acoustic ceiling pimples just like me. A friend stayed in our guest bedroom once and he must have this problem, too, because he took these little stick-on stars and dots and made a little mural of the heavens one night on the guest bedroom ceiling. He’s a bike shop owner. These people have very good reasons to be up at 2 a.m.

I went through a spell when I just said hell with it, if I’m going to be awake I’m going to work. So I’d get up about once every week or two and work through the night at my computer. I did not realize, at the time, the ritualistic "putting on of the armor" that I went through every morning. You feel much more equipped to deal with a problem after a night’s sleep, and on top of that, after you arise, make your coffee and do whatever you do in the a.m., problem-solving really is a snap. For years I didn’t realize that my ability to make decisions and solve problems was at its low ebb at 2 a.m. A problem the magnitude of which would consume three hours of worry in the middle of the night would be the sort of thing that would take care of itself within 15 minutes during the day.

So now if I wake up worrying about something at 2 a.m., I just have to go through the "steps" to remind myself that I’m no damn good at problem-solving at this time of the night, and that I don’t have any of my problem-solving armor on in any case, and why don’t I just go back to sleep and take up the problem at 6 a.m.?

This is the type of process that keeps me on my bike. There are other rituals and things to remember to avoid pitfalls such as the 2 a.m. worry session. One is the "I can’t ride because I’ve got a PARTICULAR amount of work to do today" pitfall. And so on.

Hi. My name is Dan and I’ve been soberly training for 20 months.

In the 30 years I’ve been doing endurance sports, and the 20 years I’ve been doing triathlons, I can’t begin to count the number times I’ve been on and off this wagon. I can’t say that I’ll never let myself get out of shape again. I certainly don’t have the willpower to do the right things. But I do know something about situations and thought processes, and how to avoid the bad ones and run toward the good ones. I have my rituals and stick to them.

I give full rein to my body’s desire—after I’ve given it a good workout—to further mimic a healthy lifestyle by putting healthy things inside it. Like apples. I’ve never actually checked to see how good-for-you these things are. But when I give my body a fighting chance to stay fit, it seems to be pretty smart about this kind of stuff, and it figures apples are better for me than chili burgers.