I’ve entered into a light-hearted, banter-based competition with a couple of guys on a cycling forum about how many miles we cycle, which is wonderfully childish and, since I’m currently in the lead, wholly satisfying in a smug sort of a way. Did I mention I’m way out in the lead?

It was neck and neck for a while but last week, thanks to some decent weather, several rather flimsy excuses to cycle into town on different days, and a few club rides, I managed to secure my lead by cycling no less than (in fact, a mile and bit more than) two hundred miles in seven days.

I confess I nearly fell off the sofa when I totalled things up towards the end of the week and damn near killed my legs on Sunday morning by making them stay out until I’d passed the 200 mile target, but was feeling horribly pleased with myself right up the moment when I had to ride into town yesterday for an appointment. It didn’t help that I’d forgotten to put my padded shorts on under my jeans, but I winced my way along the road and felt like crawling home.

Mind you, I think it only just about cancelled out the pudding I had on Saturday evening…

Chocolate brownies to die for... And to kill. (21 January 2012)

Diet? What diet?