Wednesday 6 November
Today, I got back on the saddle.
It’s only a week since I fell off and broke my bicycle, but my legs were already protesting like billy-o. It appears (in simple terms) that cycling legs, have to cycle, or else they start to become sitting-on-the-sofa legs (non-technical term) and they get all hissy when you call them into action. Any attempt to teach them who’s boss is strongly resisted. I have stubborn legs. That much is clear.
And, despite being wholly inanimate, a saddle also has dillusions of grandeur. Saddles only have one good position. Just one. If you don’t set it properly, it becomes, quite literally, a pain in the arse.
However, despite stubborn legs and an arsey saddle, I pointed my shiny new bike towards the hills (not hard in Sheffield – it’s all hills).
Riding on a mini-tsunami of lactic acid and chaffing, I pedalled towards the horizon. 10 miles on and I’m back home, ruddy faced and panting like St Bernard. The minor saddle-related griping was resolved with a quick flick of an Allen key and the stubborn legs gave up whining after a mile and did me proud.
The cycle path to recovery lives on. Yay!