Look, there's no other way of saying this: I am about to become a bike bore.
With an urgent need to lose some weight (after a pie overdose left me at 13 stone 7 lbs), I took up the running again. The final straw being asked when the baby was due.
And the problem with being a fat bloke is that running does your knees, shins and ankles no end of impact injuries. So, says my pal Big Alastair, why not try riding your bike? Seeing as he is now Not-as-Big-Alastair-As-Three-Months-Ago, I could only agree with him. So I have become a bike bore.
I've even signed up to one of those websites where you can map your bike ride, then annoy all your Facebook followers with the exact details of your ride to the shops and back.
It does lack, however, a 'sick inna hedge on this ride' tick box. But fair play, there's space for 'shat my pants on the steep bit' and 'told a taxi driver to fooking fook off before disappearing down a side road' which is everything the committed bike bore needs in a website.
"So then," you ask, "How are you getting on?"
I'm glad you answered that, because this gives me the chance to gloat over ten mile trips up and down the Isle of Portland, a half-stone weight loss (although it's tough riding with only the one arm, elective amputation being the one, true way to permanent weight loss) and a burn-up at a set of traffic lights that left a little old lady on a Raleigh Shopper EATING MY DUST.
Pissed off that she caught me on the uphill bit, though.