For Sale, Second Hand Blow Up Doll........

I bet you were thinking "Hey up, he's gone a bit quiet since all that bike ride malarkey". "He's probably still riding it". Well, not so. Although it still feels like I am. Said bike ride was dually completed in what was for me, a fairly respectable time.

You probably heard the champagne cork popping and the whooping of joy from where you are. No, we didn't crack open the bubbly when I finished.

It was Mrs B donning a miners lamp, and removing the saddle from "you know where" with the barbecue tongs.

A saint that woman.

So, now all that is behind me (in EVERY sense of the word), what's next for this honed athlete? A bit of a rest? Retirement from all things physical? Surely, it's time to act my age?

Well, not exactly.......

I have decided to enter myself into a 10k run. Or 2.

Honestly, as I am writing this, in my drawing room, with the lights dimmed, and classical music gently caressing my ears, at my antique oak writing desk.......stuck in a lay by, pen and paper leaning against the steering wheel, radio blaring, and the traffic zipping past at mach one, rocking the car, which in turn threatens to rock me to sleep...........

Sorry, where was I? Oh yeah!

As I write this, I am seriously questioning my judgment. What is wrong with me? I have mentioned the term "Mid Life Crisis" before. Is this yet more evidence?

And why the heck am I asking you? You're only reading this because you accidentally hit the wrong link, whilst looking for second hand, fully inflatable rubber lady/man escorts.

Hang on a minute! That gives me an idea to boost my audience.

Anyway, back to the M.L.C. as I shall now refer to it. I've suggested to Mrs B that now summer is here, that it might be a nice idea if we look for sporty little car. Perhaps with a fold down roof.

She looks up from her Mills & Boon, and gives me withering look.

"THAT is not going to happen unless you get a proper job that pays proper wages".

She then shakes her head slowly, tuts and returns to her book.

A little perplexed by this, I reply:-

"Well, it's either that, or I just go and find myself a nice, busty 18 year old blond" I said this with just a hint of "how would you like that" in my voice.

This time, she does not even bother to look up from her book.

"That would be a little tricky without your testicles, darling".

mmmmmmmmmmmmm......she has a point there I guess.

So, in order to once again prepare this old carcass for my next challenge,and to keep myself from under Mrs B's feet, and in a pathetic effort to keep myself feeling a bit younger, I have gone back to the running.

Thinking that I was fairly fit from the cycling, and still running occasionally, I made the mistake of agreeing to a gentle 10k run with a buddy of mine.

A little bit about him.

He is a bit younger than me, and runs 10k races for fun. If he is not running a 10k race, he is training to run a 10k race.

Up hill. Into the wind. Dragging a tractor tyre behind him.

He runs 10k quicker than I can pee.

OK, that last statement what not so impressive, considering I am "at that age", but you understand where I am coming from.

Sometimes, when he is bored, and wants a bit of a laugh at my expense, he runs with me.

So, we set of at a gentle canter.

First mile, no problem.

Second mile, a bit harder, but bearable.

Third mile, "Oh Crap"

By mile four, I am pretty beat.

Going into mile five, I am really suffering, much to his delight. I want to stop for a breather, but don't want to suggest it, for fear of ridicule.

So, I do the one thing I know I am good at.

I complain.

Bitterly.

"It's too hot"

"The sweat is stinging my eyes"

"My legs hurt"

"How much further?"

In response to this, he begins to offer comforting words of encouragement and motivation.

"If we go any slower, we are going to get overtaken by the next ice age".

"For goodness sake, stop effing complaining, you sack of sweaty crap"

"You are pathetic, you are"

I find myself wondering how he has got the breathe to speak, when I haven't even got any to breath!

In the end, as we get to the top of the 3,000 foot climb, he relents.

"OK, let's just walk for a bit and let you get your breathe back". And under his breathe, "Before I punch your sweaty, whinging face in".

We walk for about three seconds, before he says "OK, on we go".

Eventually, we arrive home, where I collapse into a big sobbing heap of sweaty, panting jelly on the floor.

Expecting a "Well done", and a hearty slap on the back, I am slightly disappointed to hear him mutter "Tosser", before stepping over me, and going for a "proper" run.

Anyway, as a big thank you, we are going to have a barbecue in the near future. And, as an act of revenge I am going to cook his food using the saddle removing barbecue tongs I mentioned earlier!

P.T.F.O.