The sunny weather brought out the lycra. Big time. On me. This brought with it unexpected vanities. Dressed in a fitted but not tight t-shirt I paired this up with a pair of proper cycling shorts a la Aldi supermarket supplier of choice to Alison. Found myself struggling on the long drag into town with breathing and position, and realised to my horror the shorts made me do it. Made me hold my stomach in. Which was obviously stopping my lungs operating as effectively as they might.
Weird, the old bugbear of vanity. Once I was aware of it, obviously my first reaction was to be horrified that I was as shallow as the next woman, and indeed obviously far more shallow. I'm no super model but I'm not a wallowing whale. Having reached the grand old age of 42 without going through childbirth I don't have the perfectly understandable post pregnant woman issues of love handles and saggy tummy, just a firm and acceptable slight curve in that general vicinity. So what am I doing trying to hold my belly in? Cars pass me, cyclists pass me, I pass cyclists, I pass walking peoples (can't quite get my head round the word pedestrian sometimes), and frankly a) I see them for a fraction of a minute and b) I won't ever see them again. Still the logic is weird, because having said my first reaction was one of horror, my second was one of trying to relax the old tum. Every time my attention lapsed though, there it was again, stomach being held in.
The moral of this story? Baggy Shorts.
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