Five days ago, I went on my first official training ride with my new ride - an REI Navara touring bike that I bought from a veteran biker for $500. Seeing as how I know nothing about biking, he seems like the type of guy I can go back to when I have questions like “Why is my bike making this sound?” or “How do I fix this?” or “Have I lost my marbles?”

I thought I would keep the ride relatively, short, seeing as how the last time I went for a bike ride I had acne and was still listening to Motley Crue and Skid Row. So I went 10 miles, hoping to avoid muscle soreness. I did. When I rolled out of bed Sunday morning, I was pleased to do so without grunting or groaning.

“This is going to be a piece of cake,” I thought to myself. “I’ll be up to 100 miles by the end of the week.”

After fixing lunch, I changed into some shorts and a t-shirt, slipped on some shoes, and walked the bike outside, planning to push a little futher, maybe 15 miles or so. I jumped on my bike.

Then I screamed and jumped right off.

“Ahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh!’

My butt was sore. Not just sore, as in a little sensitive. It felt like someone took a baseball bat to it and had a 12-pitch at bat. Despte the fact that my legs felt great and I was ready to roll, I couldn’t even sit down on the bicycle seat. Doing so was torture - worse then going to Bed Bath and Beyond to look at Laura Ashley comforters with my girlfriend during the Super Bowl.

It’s now Thursday. It still hurts.