TALKING ABOUT A REVOLUTION
Want to hear a confession? Course you do. Who doesn’t? Better mortals than me. I am the editor of Women’s Health and I cannot ride a bike. Nope. Not even a little bit. “But it’s just like riding a bike” you say? Erm, no it bloody isn’t! I have tried and I have the scars to prove it, but it wasn’t until I took over the Sacred Lycra Pants of WH and moved to Cape Town that I got an itch to finally get it right. There’s little point in considering joining the rest of Cape Town in its annual pilgrimage to Afrika Burn if one is only going to be running gaily alongside them as they pedal off to the next party. No one wants to be the dusty, sweaty girl who arrives two hours later. Plus, seriously: FOMO. Cyclists always seem to have suuuuch a good thing going. Sure, the clothes are unflattering AF, but they get muddied and bloodied and they speed down hills and feel the wind against their casquettes... Or so I am led to believe. Sigh. So, I did what any professional in my position would do and I asked for help. Which came – as it so often does – in the form of my this-should-be-hilarious daughters. They flung me onto a bicycle and made me glide around the park. I was doing a staggeringly fine job – in amazing star-spangled leggings, I might add – until a six-year-old furiously pedaled past me with a withering: “Yoh, but your balance is bad.” Bastard. Our managing ed, Amy, decided last year that she was going to take up cycling and tried cajoling me into joining her. Yeah right. She’s just finished what is arguably one of the toughest single-day mountain-bike races in the country – whoop, whoop! – with a load more race dates for the year on her calendar and her theory is this: if she can, anyone can. And she did. And she does. And she still will. Swot up on her mammoth cycling special on page 102 – it should inspire you enough to give it a go and inform you enough to actually get off your soon-to-be-gel-padded arse. I’m thinking it’s just the push – urgh, sorry – I needed too. But if you spot me out there on wheels and I’ve caved to a pair of novelty socks, please push me off my bike. There’s only so much a Jozi girl will do in the name of fashion.