Since I regaled you all with my decision to go and try to kill myself on a midnight 8km obstacle course being chased through mud, pools, rooms full of spiders by things like zombies and shit arse scary clowns that should be shot, I thought I would entertain you with something else I signed up for in the afternoon after I signed up for the Running Scared.
A 20km bike ride!
Oh yes. Tack onto that the ride there and back and my sore vagina is looking at about 30km in the saddle. The last time I did something like this I was pretty sure it was bruised and it was interesting to walk. How many times does it take to break in your vajayjay to bike riding? Saddle sore? I thought after horse riding I would be fine!! But apparently not.
This is not an option – my pretty red retro bike would look horrid with a pillow on it and as much as I protest that I’m not a princess, I secretly am.
So I’ve registered to do the Gear Up Girl ride along the beach on the 8th of March.
This time however because wifey had some major surgery I’ll be going solo on my little push bike but she did volunteer so I can wave as I pass her on my bike. It’s an all girls event, meaning that only female bike riders and their daughters are allowed to go on the ride and it’s a fund-raiser for the heart foundation. Which is all well and good.
But it’s at 7am on a Sunday morning.
7am. Sunday. Those two words shouldn’t go together. Unless I’m doing the walk of shame home after a big night out.
Why do I do these things? Apparently Cern thinks I’m insane. I told him I registered for the bike ride and he asked me what was wrong with me and that he will be sitting at the finish line with all the foods. I wanted to hate him a bit in that minute, but he’s got such a cute smile that I could never hate him. If anything it means the cheeky sod gets away with way too much.
So here I sit and wonder, will I die in a few weeks? Will my bike be peddling itself over the finish line while I flop around behind it?
Can I find someone to piggy back onto and they can pull me along? Why don’t bike seats come in comfortable fits? Will my vajayjay be bruised and battered?
Such important questions.
If you don’t hear from me after the 8th, farewell dear friends, I have died for a good cause!