Back in the saddle

After two and a half weeks away, tonight I went back to 7Cycle for another spin class. This time, wearing a pair of shorts with an embarrassing hole gradually growing near my crotch. I was worried that at some point people would think I’d only gone to the class to flash the people around me.

Before the class, I had an avocado sandwich. Lamentably, I didn’t have ripe avocado to put in my sandwich, but instead one so unripe I was worried that I might bend the knife cutting it. I’m not sure that was the right kind of food to charge me with energy. At least it would take my mind off my shorts.

The shorts in question are an unfeasibly expensive pair of Swiss compression shorts. It’s doubly annoying that they should have a hole in them, firstly because I paid so much, and secondly because Compressport have done a decent job with compression socks. Why they couldn’t also manufacture durable shorts is beyond me. It’s not like I’d get in trouble for flashing a bit of calf.

We bathed our daughter, who alternated between angelic and refusing to go to bed. Sometimes she’ll deign to be put in her cot, but tonight she’d only go to sleep on the bed. Then when we picked her up to put her in her cot, she’d wake up and start crying. Being a problem solver, I cunningly let her go to sleep on my arm, so I could then pick her up without waking her as I slid my hand underneath her body. I risked losing all feeling in my hand, buy got the child asleep and safely stowed, then ran to my spin class.

On the way through the darkened streets, I heard my name called out by a colleague, but I was sprinting to make the class. No time for chit-chat at five to eight in the evening. Just a rush into the studio, fumbling with my shoes, then getting on the bike and worrying that the hole in my shorts was getting more and more obvious, and when you’re the lone bearded man in a room full of women, you don’t want to look like a sex pest.

So I cycled for 45 minutes, feeling a bit dire (still weak from the cold, and late night spinning can be tough) and convinced either me or the woman next to me smelt of farts. I suppose it must be me, women only smell of rainbows and unicorns.

The shorts didn’t reveal anything untoward. I assume they gripped my legs successfully: they were uncomfortable around the knees and a pleasure to remove when I got home,but otherwise acceptable. At home, I found my wife falling asleep and prepared to join her.

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