There's this hill. It's over a mile long. I cycle down it to get to work (9 minutes). I cycle up it to get home (an awful lot longer).
Over the summer, I told myself that, now my youngest was no longer at Primary school and could walk to his new school, I didn't need to drive. What I needed to do was to get on my bike and tackle that effing hill.
And so, since the beginning of September, I've ping-ponged up and down said hill almost every day. Over the weeks, I've learned many things about the downhill run, including how to avoid the pot holes at speed; that skirts really can fly up in your face if you're going fast enough; and that, if you have your brakes on all the time, you will soon hear the shrieking of metal on metal, smell burning rubber and witness an occasional naked flame (which is not good).
It's the uphill part though, that has caused me most heartache. Literally. It's made my heart. Ache.
My first issue was: heat. September seemed to be full of blisteringly hot late afternoons, and as I laboured up the hill in my Granny cog gear, I would attempt to strip off everything I possibly could, without being arrested for Mum Nudity. I would go so slowly that sometimes, I would fall off. Literally. People walking - with sticks - would overtake me. My heart, which already has a hole in, would occasionally shout "WHAT THE ACTUAL FUCK?" and tell me to stop. Which I did. But after a short rest, I'd carry on with the hill torture and battle my way home, usually pushing the sodding bike for the remainder of the hideous journey.
And when I got home, I'd immediately (in this order): drink a pint of water, say hello to my children, take a paracetamol, have a cold shower and lie down. For an hour.
Six weeks later and things have got a bit better. I still hate the thought of the long journey home, but I can do the hill in one sitting now, and this week, I actually overtook a walker. Although, to be fair, he might have been walking the other way.
So this brings me to tonight's shenanigans. It was Parents' Evening, and I'd ridiculously booked my slots far too early, giving myself 30 minutes to not only cycle up the bleedin hill but to make sure I was in some sort of human form when presenting myself as a parent to my kids' tutors.
I had to put pressure on myself. Today was the day when I was going up a gear.
But about twenty seconds after I'd gone up one gear, three things happened: 1. my heart appeared to beating so hard that it filled my whole chest cavity, and my throat, and may have been popping out of my mouth, 2. my breathing became so loud that it smothered the clamour of all passing traffic, including a tour bus, and 3. someone had rushed in and fixed invisible lead weights to my thighs, which were burning like buggery.
By this point, it was raining hard. My eyes were swimming, and my nose was dripping. There were various other 'ing' words that I really don't want to talk about. Every car that passed me gave me an additional soaking and I started to scream, "THANK YOU!" at the top of my voice to each one. The final straw came as a Range Rover overtook me and then turned left in front of me, into the gates of a local private school. "THANK YOU, YOU FUCKER!" I screamed as I wobbled around the bulky boot of the car - then realised that the driver had heard me and so cycled off at top speed (2 mph).
I eventually made it to the top, and checked my watch. Eight minutes before my appointment; my house was a minute's cycle away, and the school five minutes from there. I couldn't go straight to the school because, to be honest, I looked like a banshee and smelt like a cowshed. I needed to get home, wash, brush and go.
The race was on.
My road is two-way but narrow. Normally I wait like a good girl for traffic coming towards me but today, I was in full 'chicken-playing' mode. I was stopping for no one. So precisely 56 seconds after reaching the top of the hill, I was home.
There is no easy way to say this, but essentially, I gave myself a good mopping. Impulse was used to cover any latent smells. My helmet was taken off, a brush pulled through my hair, and then my helmet was back on. A quick 'hello, goodbye' to my eldest and I was off again.
You know when you thought it was raining hard, and then it really starts to rain hard, and you suddenly think, "Oh....NOW it's wet." That.
The road was flooded. Water was getting in the top of my boots. I couldn't look up because it felt like God was sticking crochet hooks in my eyes.
So after five minutes of blind cycling, I arrived at the school. I locked up my bike, and took off my helmet.
And as I walked in, I caught sight of myself in a the window. I looked like a cross between a tramp, a bonfire Guy, and a parking attendant (high viz, see).
And with this knowledge, I strode into the school hall, dripping, hand outstretched towards my tween's apparently terrified tutor...