Tuesday, March 16, 2010


Find this poster at the LOVEshop 

My dad has been doing the Argus for as long as I can remember. My mom used to cart us kids down to a place under the Ladies Mile bridge where we used to clap and yell and be awfully proud of our dad for doing something so crazy and brave. This year I decided it was time to join the old guy and tackle the argus myself. I did a few spin classes, did some longer distance stuff and decided that if 12 year old kids can do it well then I sure as hell could. I actually laughed out loud at some points because of how hard it was! I couldn't believe I could have been so freaking naive! The wind was a little one of those bitchy girls you went to school with, incredibly mean at times, especially when you crawl up Chappies expecting to be rewarded with an adrenaline filled downhill from heaven and instead you are greeted with a nasty white squall in the face bullying you all the way to the bottom. There were many times along the route when I wished I was still under that bridge clutching a melted ice cream instead of trying to ignore the fire in my undercarriage. There were moments I wanted to cry because I wanted out so badly, but when I reached that finish line I was the proudest person in the universe. You would swear that I had actually won the tour de france at the way I was behaving, Boyfriend even bought me a bottle of Champers so It felt like the real deal. I swear I don't think Lance armstrong felt as good as I did (His start time conveniently coincided with the rising of the sun, the wind had not even gotten up yet by the time Malcolm and the boys had had a shower and their first celebratory beer!) I suppose what I am trying to say is that if you have the chance, get on your bike and start training now, because this race is something you want to get involved in. The argus is the most beautiful, rewarding, hard ass tour that will make you feel like you can conquer the world and If you have lived in Cape Town you kind of have to do it if you want to be legit. 

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