In my life, I've owned three bicycles.  My first was a sky blue bike with a cloud-patterned banana seat.  It was waaaay cool.  My second bike was a 10-speed, a perfectly fitting ride for a teenage girl.  My third and current bike is a pseudo-mountain bike.  I say pseudo because I would never actually ride it on a MOUNTAIN or even anything unpaved.  I'm not much of a biker, really, more of a casual pedaler.

My dad, on the other hand, loves a challenge.  He spent the past few months training for a bike race that would cover 150 miles in two days.  In the 30-odd years that I've been biking, have probably not logged 150 miles ever.  As in total.  Here's my dad in all his biking glory:


He called me after the race to tell me that he'd finished and all went well.  I asked him how he felt and he said "Fine."  Like it was NOTHING.  I was really proud of him, because if our roles had been reversed I wouldn't even have been able to dial the phone.  Probably ever again.