CRB and I are off cycling in the Dales in a few weeks, and his calves are bigger than mine. This poses a bit of a problem for hills. In need to do some exercise.
Gym? No thanks. Running? Hurts my knees. Steroids? Too expensive.
We made our own amusement back in the 90s, and by golly we don't need no new fangled techniques to get fit. Just willpower (sadly lacking) and three good meals a day (a cheese and onion pasty counts as one of these).
So I've filled my panniers with 7.5 litres of paint (in a tin, bozo!) and am cycling (or wobbling) all over London, building up Tour de France style stamina.
If you see a crushed bicycle lying in a massive pool of pale blue paint, that will be me.