Bum ache after a cyle ride

It's Sunday.  Before I got up this morning I had contemplated hitting they gym.  I then got up.  Had breakfast and really didn't have much enthusiasm for the gym.  I hadn't got up early enough.  This was a mistake.  If I had gone to the gym then it would of been a couple of hours out of my day.  I would of known the ongoing fight against weight gain had been fought this day and been comfortable with myself.  Conscience at ease.  Instead, because the fight didn't get to round one my next step was to get the bicycle out and have a ride.  For it seems so much easier just having to sit on a saddle and turn my little leggies on a couple of peddles.  No real effort.  But knowing at the same time it is exercise and there is a mild amount of effort involved.  So to this extent it is the easier option than hitting the gym for a couple of hours and having to put up with people stinking of B.O. on the next machine to me.  I'm sure I have a degree of B.O. when I get sweaty, but hope it smells like spring flowers and  isn't particularly stinky.

So with a nice and leisurely cycle in mind I set off.  Some four and a half hours later I returned back home.  I sit here and my arse is killing me.  Like I could of just been the star guest at a swinging gay convention, someone must of slipped me a pretty large dose of rohipnal.  God, that seat is hard.   Shit do I need a soft goose down cushion to sit on or what.  My hands are blistered to from holding the grips.  I don't know how much I sweated but am sure as the wind was in my face, hair and going up into me pits it evaporated pretty well.  On one main road I got overtaken by a woman and she was riding a woman cycle.  Not like she had a sporty cycle, it was a woman cycle.  Great, my manliness is now in question.  The truth being, at this stage I really didn't care a great deal.  On the last leg of the way back home, I was using every short cut I possibly could, standing up on the peddles rather than sit on the razor blade arse killing seat.  I know why those Tour De France fellas are so skinny.  After sitting on those seats the pain takes away any thoughts of food.  I can feel myself walking like John Wayne.  Except without the bloody horse.  If it weren't the gay convention maybe it was the bloody horse that bent me over.  Maybe I should sit on some frozen peas.   

Must remember, get gym kit ready for tomorrow.  Stick lock on bicycle and forget the combination.  Steer clear of all male bars.