Climbing back on the saddle.

One day I just decided I wanted to train again, every day if I could. I don’t like training anymore so I had to think of something that would, hopefully, be enjoyable and I would have to do it, whether I liked it or not.

So I decided that I would cycle to work and back every day. That would be a journey of 17.5km each way. 35km in total……..every day! So I bought myself a bicycle.

I call my bicycle «Lance», not because it would make me a great cyclist capable of winning the Tour de France many times, but because it was an electric bicycle and that, I accept, is cheating.

Lance helps me get up to 25km/h, which helps me climb the steep hills. I still have to pedal hard, Lance does not do all the work, he only «assists».

My biggest concern was the saddle. Lance had an awfully thin saddle and I knew it would hurt to sit on it. The guy in the shop assured me they could get me bigger saddle so I asked for one with lots of cushioning and arm rests, a Chesterfield if possible. What I ended up with was a slightly larger saddle with a gel cushion on top of it. The gel cushion was about a centimeter thick without my weight on it and about half a milimeter thick with my weight on it.

The first day cycling was tough, really tough. It took me forty minutes to get to work and I cried «ow, ow, ow, ow, ow, ow…..» all the way there…………and back again. At the end of the ride home I could not sit down, not even on a soft cushion. I felt like I had been violated repeatedly in a prison gang rape. I was so sore I had to sleep on my stomach.

The next morning, still very very tender, I mounted Lance again and road off into the rain……..and wind. As my red swolen baboon's arse took a further beating I did not cry. OK, so that’s a lie. I cried a lot! The only positive being the aches and pains in my tired legs went unnoticed.

Lance and I finished the whole week and we never gave up. Well, when I say «we» I don’t include my right leg, which went dead on me several times and refused to acknowledge the rest of my body.

No cycling on the weekend because I had a boat house to build with my father-in-law.

The second week began as the first week did, «Ow, ow, ow, ow, ow………» I was having serious doubts that I would ever get used to that saddle. I kept going and finished the second week as I started it…….in great pain. Much to the laughter and enjoyment of my wife.

Week three was a little better. Not much but a little. My bruised and battered posterior was toughening up. Actually, it was developing corns and calluses. I have no idea how my file for thick skin is going to rub these hard areas smooth again. I know spa’s and beauty salons offer pedicures and manicures but what do they offer to smooth down a ripened baboon’s arse? And should I ask?

So, after three weeks what have I achieved and do I feel better? I have achieved a better level of fitness, I can feel that. My clothes fit better and I sleep much much better at night. Have I lost any weight whilst training for one hour and twenty minutes for five days a week? No! And the reason is simple. I eat my own body weight in flies and other insects every day.