It is a little ironic my rear end should be the subject of this very piece (composed in my head as I trundle along) as it is that particular part of my anatomy that led me to this very spot in the first place.
Let me explain.
On Sunday I went to golf with the lads. Present were all the usual suspects plus an old mate known for his witty yarns and recall of past football glories, etc.
Unfortunately, this day I was to be the subject of his recollections. Particularly the time my, er, "well-proportioned" frame was called into action against a high-flying team in Auckland in front of several hundred fervent supporters of our opposition.
As I strode onto the field ready to do battle, some wag in the audience yelled out: "Roll the field while you're out there!" which led to much belly laughter from those present, including my teammates.
Then there was the time he made sure I got the smallest shorts and they ripped during the game.
Once would have been funny but he made sure it happened five times in one season!
Obviously upon hearing these stories my golf mates were equally moved to belly laughs and I endured a long afternoon of "fat" jokes and good-natured ribbing.
Thus, upon returning home that evening, I decided the time was right (again) to get into shape asap. And what better way to start than to get on the bike and trim away some poundage.
Which brings me to my current position. I'm now 15 minutes into the ride and my calf muscles stubbornly don't want to play any more. There is ice forming on my face, which I'm guessing is because it's cold and not because I'm going fast.
Even worse, there is a train of sweat slowly moving down my back headed for the end of the line at you know where.
And my backside now feels like I've had the cane from Mr Farrell in the Fourth Form at Greymouth High School. Again.
Luckily I made it to work and headed straight to the toilet cubicle to change.
If I moved fast I could head off the sweat train before it got to Cheeky Canyon.
Unfortunately, in the rush I managed to drop my fresh T-shirt in the toilet bowl.
So now here I sit at my computer writing this.
Numb bum, sore muscles, in my sweaty clothes and facing the prospect of having to go through it all again this afternoon when I ride home.
I'm thinking I might call in at the doctor's surgery first.
Maybe they'll have an old Reader's Digest lying round.
