Three Attempts To Get My Leg Over

L talks me into cycling today. Saying it would be good for my legs. Hmmm. Getting out of bed they're not as bad as I suspected. That said though it takes me three attempts to get my leg over this morning. Leg over onto my bike that is. Surprisingly once on the bike my legs do seem to work.

The traffic is particularly heavy today which I could do without in my current weakened state. I pull up at the lights alongside a woman in a 4WD. She sits caressing the steering wheel of her vehicle which is so inappropriately huge that you just know that her husband bought it for her to compensate for his own inadequacies. Meanwhile in the back, three young children are using the rear seat as a trampoline. I move ahead and in front of her to make sure she's seen me. I'm still sure she hasn't. The lights change and I pull over to one side to get out of the way as she roars away and turns left across the front of me without any indication.

Mad mothers like her, doing the school run, are a major obstacle in my quest for survival on the bike. They don't look or indicate at junctions because they are frazzled by their hyperactive offspring, in addition they are usually speeding because they're running late, and to top it all they all drive vast 4WD's that they're not in control of. Still when they mow down us cyclists, at least the crash bars and roll cages mean the kids inside will be ok. Obese but ok.

I take L's advice and take it very slowly. Nearly ten minutes outside my PB. The worst bit was when I had to dismount to cross the bridge onto Pride Park. Dismounting was embarrassing but staggering over the bridge was exceedingly painful. So close to work and yet so far. I hobble over, eventually manage to remount, only second attempt this time, and struggle on to work.

My next problem is climbing the steps at work; even sitting on the loo is painful. It doesn't bode well for my 5K on Thursday. L reckons I would have been even more stiff had I not cycled.

She had a good walk with Doggo. They had a bit of a scuffle with Cyril but nothing much, which she put down to little dog syndrome. So I assume from that Cyril must be a canine.

L's spotted our old car. That after two engine failures I sold to the garage for £400. She says it looked all shiny and new with not a dog hair in sight. It's always been in excellent condition, dog hairs apart; it was just the engine that was shagged. Good luck to the new owners, don't go too far from home in it.

L's researching into whether fat people get so fat they have to stop work. I didn’t think most fat people worked in the first place. Surely eating that much is a full time job in itself.

Strangely that project turns quickly into her looking up 'scrotum' and 'tunica' on the internet. She was surprised that she didn't get a lot of porn come up like she did last week when she was looking for a diagram of the anal sphincter. On that occasion I offered to get the camera out after I’ve had a few beers but my offer was knocked back.

I thought the Tunica were an American Indian tribe but apparently not. I ask whether I would enjoy it if she showed me where it/they are. She seemed to think I would. Don't know if that has anything to do with the fact that L asks if she can 'book a slot' for tonight particularly as the internet is on go slow at home. She doesn't need the internet to be malfunctioning to get a booking; my diary is always open for that sort of slot. Well, dog, triathlons, runs, swims, etc permitting

I wobble my bike to the swimming pool. My legs are very tired and I do not expect to be up to too many lengths but in the end it's not too bad. My legs seem better when immersed in water. Rather than do loads of lengths I spend 20 minutes concentrating on breathing on both sides with mixed success.

A swimmer with a really crap stroke gets in my lane. He's doing front crawl, well kind of, it's more of a frantic doggie paddle. Understandably he's knackered after each length and has to stop for regular breathers. After a while he gives up and reverts to backstroke, which is even more annoying.

There's a chap in the next lane in his tri shorts with an assortment of floats. We get out of the pool at roughly the same time and he too gets changed into cycling shorts. We nod the usual cyclists greeting. Then sneer at each others bikes. As you do.

I take doggo to training and he develops his limp again, so it's the vets for him.

We have three glasses of wine and an early night. I let L do all the work; it’s the only way with the state of my legs.