Day 98: Fit or Flop?

It's Saturday but no lie-in for me. My alarm wakes me at 7 and as I fight temptation to roll over and snuggle back under the duvet, I remember why I am being so rudely awoken.

It's actually the fault of the our local parish councillor (known from now on as LPC) and I also blame my fitness fanatic, triathalon friend (to be known as FFTF) and my dear friends, let's call them Jack and Jill (you know who you are!)

For ages, well, since last summer, especially since FFTF and Jack and Jill's son, Jack jnr, have been keenly training for whatever triathalons they can, we've been talking about started a village cycling club. I was keen, as I'm sure we all were, especially when it was warm and sunny, and slippery, wet roads were not on our minds. But all too soon, winter was here and taking the bikes out would have been madness.

So while LPC, FFTF and Jack jnr got fit last year, playing golf or training as only golfers and fanatical triathletes can, with Jill joining in when she could, I settled into a weekend exercise regime of doing precisely nothing.

Then, last week, whilst exercising our drinking arms in the pub, FFTF mentioned a forthcoming triathalonand LPC re-visited thoughts of the cycle group. We all agreed it would be fun and decided to get out there tomorrow.

Back to my rude awakening...my bike had its last airing a year ago, so while my porridge was cooking, I checked my tyres. Flat as pancakes! I pump them up and feel knackered before I even start.

We meet at Jack and Jill's house at 9 but Jack jnr is unable to make it this time. We are behaving like little kids off on a summer's day of adventure. I feel the only thing missing is a picnic and ginger beer.

It's a beautiful morning, a little fresh but it promises to be warm and sunny later. FFTF and LPC vie for pole position - LPC is pretty fit for a man of his years but FFTF is merely warming up - Jill and I bring up the rear trying hard to keep breathing. Jack is showing us how fast he can go with his extra set of gears but I can tell he wants to race with the others. Being a gentleman, he hangs back to make sure Jill is okay. She would be better if her saddle was higher and she understood her gears ("there are so many", she exclaims) but we're all having so much fun and that's all that matters.

By the time we're beyond walking distance from the village, Jill and I know there's nothing for it but keep going. We've done well so far forgetting we've only been travelling downhill most of the way. It's an uphill struggle from now on.

To see two unfit 50-somethings pedalling like hamsters on a wheel is not a pretty sight and I think at one stage as my heart was beating so fast it was going to explode. Jack encourages us to keep going as it's doing us good and I believe him, even though I think I'm going to die. I wonder if the road is wide enough for an ambulance to get through.

Because of our frequent stops for water and regaining control of our breathing, it takes us 90 minutes to ride 12 kilometres, which is apparently attrocious. But that's triathletes and fit golfers for you. What do they know?

We plan another ride for next weekend as long as Jill and I have recovered in time!

Once back home I collapse in a heap on the settee and swear I'll never be able to move again.

By the afternoon I ache all over so much I convince myself I'm going down with swine flu! How can one little bike ride cause so many muscles to hurt in such a big way?!