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So. Yesterday, Mr Thick and I spent THREE HOURS in the gym and on the saddle of a stationary bike.

Yes, you are right, WHO THE HECK SPENDS THREE HOURS IN THE GYM ON A SATURDAY? Apparently, err, we did. And we spent only three hours there. There were people who happily peddled for EIGHT HOURS. Nobody forced us to do this at gun-point, strangely enough, we put our names down most willingly.

Let’s go back a little. The gym (and a most excellent one, I might add, they don’t always try to kill their members) had organised a “hell ride” at one of the outlets – eight hours of spinning on those dratted bikes. It was broken down into different sectors so I volunteered husband and I for the three-hour long mountain stage, intending to stay for all of one hour.

In the end, we stayed for all three hours, although I did take little breaks. At 5pm, we buckled in and started spinning. It went well, my lungs died a few times and came back to life and then at 6pm I took a one-track break. I headed out 45-minutes later to adjust my shorts.

(Let me sidetrack now by saying that if ever you are cycling and feel something poking into your lady parts, go to the loo IMMEDIATELY to adjust your shorts. You do not want to be sitting on the string of your shorts, which has hard plastic covering the ends, because IT HURTS and is ABRASIVE and you DON’T WANT THAT FOR YOUR LADY PARTS. That’s all I shall say for that matter.)

By 730pm, my right ITB was starting to tighten and I decided to go out of the room for some stretching. Stretching turned to downing Coke, which evolved into sitting at the coffee table flipping through 8-Days. Erm, yeah. I decided that it was a tad embarrassing to end the session with a Coke in one hand and 8-Days on the other so I headed back in for one last track and cool down.

Did I die? Surprisingly, no. The amount of perspiration I had excreted was rather cathartic. And it helped that there was a bunch of crazy ladies – A’s favourite members – who cheered and sang and waved their towels in the air throughout the three-hour ride. They helped to lighten the mood and turned it into something celebratory and festive.

There were bits where I pushed myself (up the slopes) and those were I didn’t (these gams ain’t got no speed in them) so in the end, it worked out nicely.

More importantly, I felt stronger knowing that I could do a three-hour ride. I went in thinking I would crash early on but I came out a winner, at least in my own eyes.

I did it and I could do it and I would do it all over again.

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