Gazing at PecsTwo kilometres of pedalling and the sting in the sore shoulder muscle eclipsed the searing agony in my quads. But I was not about to change the bike's setting, which I had increased a notch from yesterday as indicated on my fitness plan, even though my calves burned and the towel around my neck, there to catch the drips of sweat, was making me hot and uncomfortable. The mirror in front of me reflected back a gasping wretch, flush-faced beneath his tan. Everything about my body, my pedalling, my efforts altogether shouted “weak”.
So much for the steroids.
As for my weight, the only thing lighter about my person was my wallet. I pulled in my gut, set my jaw and concentrated on pedalling.
I couldn't help noticing that the guy next to me, who seemed to be doing the Tour de Fra
