Tuesday 18th September

I was never really bitten by the jogging bug – everyone I knew was out there running and running into problems too.  In the end I too succumbed after a lot of nagging by friends, but though I quite enjoyed it, the freedom, that mild exhilaration and sense of achievement at running a couple of miles, one by one though my friends gave up citing ankle and knee problems, and so too my sporadic jogging came to an end.  You still see quite a few out in the early morning panting round the park, but the real sport that is taking off now is cycling.  It has been slowly growing over the last few years, but I think the Olympic successes in Beijing and now of course in London have been driving this new form of ‘jogging.’

And it doesn’t come cheap; a good bike leaves little change from a thousand pounds, and all that shiny Lycra gear, gloves, helmets, even special cycling trainers and socks and wrist bands that are so trendy must cost a tidy sum.  And in a funny way I think that that is a large part of the attraction.  There has never been anything to stop anyone getting their rusty old Raleigh out of the shed – ‘pump the tyres up and a dab of Wd40 on the chain, slip your trouser clips on and away you go.’  But by buying all the gear, and the more expensive the better of course, you are joining an exclusive club of fellow devotees who spend their weekends racing along in packs, stopping at roadside diners to admire each other’s Nike and Adidas outfits or 32 gear paraphernalia, or ultra thin radial tyres and  special lightweight backpacks.  It must all be terribly good fun.  And I am almost jealous of them until I see a fellow sixty year old, whose varicose veins are protruding from his lycra leggings, and is panting furiously as he tries to keep up with the pack, that I realise that I am just happy to watch them all speeding past into a bright new future.