Looking good in lycra. . . not!

I cycled to work last week - a 12-ish mile journey, mostly off road, which took me just under an hour. Somehow I don't think the Tour de France beckons just yet.

I'm trying to get fit, you see, for a lads' outing later this year when we plan to tackle the coast-to-coast cycle ride - all 120 or so miles - over three days.

That's a breeze for a fit young lad, but when you're staring 50 down the barrel of a gun it's a somewhat more daunting prospect.

I feel obliged to get some serious miles in, though, having recently invested in a new bike.
Perhaps it was my imagination, but I'm certain that on entering the shop the sales assistant exchanged a 'knowing' look with one of his colleagues.

"born-again-cyclists. . .there's one born-again every minute" he seemed to be thinking.
I explained that I'd been having touble keeping up with my relatively fit buddies and couldn't decide whether it was me or my 15-year-old bike at fault.

After some discussion, we agreed that it was probably a bit of both but that I would definitely feel the benefit of relieving myself of £300.

For that, I got a lighter model with more gears. Not that I know what to do with them.
So now I'm in training, mostly on the Derwent Walk between Rowlands Gill and Swalwell, dodging bunny rabbits and doggy poo.

Do I look good in lycra? Frankly, no. In fact, the worst thing about cycling to work is arriving at the office all hot and sweaty, whereupon I have to run the gauntlet of wisecracks from office colleagues before grabbing my suit and shirt - thoughtfully brought in the previouis day - and disappearing into the pokey little shower cubicle in the men's loos.

Then I spend the rest of the day slumpled in front of a computer screen, dreading the cycle ride home with every passing minute.

This fitness malarky really doesn't suit the sedentary lifestyle I've spent years perfecting. . .

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