So, I know that I haven’t been around much; life, work, crime fighting, these all just keep getting in the way. For those that have missed me, I promise to be around a lot more over the coming weeks. And for those that couldn’t give a shit and hadn’t realised that I’d been absent, well, I promise to be around a lot more over the coming weeks. You know, just to piss you off.

Anyway, I’ll let you into a little secret about something else I’ve been doing over the passed couple of weeks, something that I thought would be a good idea given my advancing years and ballooning waistline…..

…..exercise.

Yep, for the last fortnight or so I’ve been actually doing really real exercise in the form of cycling. I’ve been riding to and from work for 2 weeks now and do you know what?

Cycling is fucking hard. I mean, I knew I was out of shape, but jesus fuck I didn’t realise I was this out of shape! Admittedly it’s been 16yrs since I last got on a mountain bike, but christ.

To begin with it was fine. Sure, the first time I got on the bike I wobbled so much I felt sure Dustin Hoffman was going to appear and tell me I was doing great before fighting my mum for custody, (the phrase is ‘You never forget how to ride a bike’. It should really be ‘You never forget how to ride a bike, but you’ll look like a toddler with freshly removed stabilisers if you haven;t tried it for a while’), but after a couple of minutes I was doing great. It was like I’d been doing it for years.

So good was it, in fact, that it took about 2 minutes before I was performing all the usual wanky cyclist moves; cycling on the path, weaving in and out of pedestrians, leaping up curbs to get around traffic lights.

But, it turns out, memories and bravado will only get you so far before reality, deciding that it’s had enough of this fucking about malarkey, takes a firm hold of your skeleton and musculature and shakes you hard enough to bring all the boys to the yard, milk be damned.

By the time I’d reached the riverside cycle track that would take me directly into town, I was wheezing like an asthmatic removing asbestos and my legs felt like they’d been flayed and covered with salt.

And the cycle track starts about a quarter of a mile from my house.

I was in trouble. And if I was in any doubt that trouble was my new summer wear, I was being overtaken by men in grey socks, cycling helmets and high visibility gear, and women on god damn shopper bikes. In fact, not only was I being overtaken, but they were cruising passed me so swiftly I might as well have been moving backwards.

I did make it all the way to work that day.

Of course, when I arrived I was incapable of speech for a good hour and was sweating so much I was actively losing weight. Plus I couldn’t feel my legs and my arse felt as though….well, it didn’t feel good.

But I managed it.

The ride home was worse because it was mostly uphill (but the incline was so slight that you really wouldn’t notice unless you were an unfit fat bastard on a pushbike) but I still made it home without incident and without pitching myself into the nettles and waist deep dyke water. And I’m still doing it.

And, do you know what?

It isn’t getting better.

2 weeks! 2 god damned, mother humping weeks I’ve been riding and I still get to the office feeling as though I’ve been mugged by a busload of sumo wrestlers. I thought things like this were supposed to get easier? I mean, it only took Daniel Larruso a couple of weeks to become a karate master, so why can’t I master riding a fucking bike?

Fucking Hollywood lied to me.