“Who is this jumped-up twat who thinks we care about his chip-filled gut?”, I hear you cry. “Why should we care?” It’s probably a very fair question. To be honest, I don’t care if you don’t care*. I’m not interested in your views. I’m interested in how I’m supposed to lose the spare tyre that I’ve developed, and finding the legs I had as a youth.
Herein lies my problem – every now and again, perhaps with a little too much emphasis on the “again” aspect of that phrase, I have to sit in front of the television or eat a pie. However, the sitting and the pie-eating has become my exclusive entertainment, and has so remained for far too long. It has to stop.
So far, I’ve been back on the bike for about four weeks. Not solidly, I hope you’ll understand. That would be weird, and my arse would be sore. However, four weeks has passed, with little obvious improvement in the legs nor very much reduction in the pie-cep, and I’m afraid that, without encouragement or accurate record of events, a loss of motivation may result.
I shall now lay things on the table. Bare all, as it were. It’s “data entry” time, and since the time and date are saved along with the blog posting, I needn’t worry about checking my watch.
Height: 5′ 10″ (I assume that this won’t change, so I shall never need to record it again)
Now, since this first post is written (and is very uninteresting, even to me), I shall get on with the job at hand. Cycling.
* This is hopelessly untrue. I do care, but I don’t really know why.