Recently, or maybe ten years ago, I discovered lycra. After I discovered it, I only wanted to be wearing one thing: lycra. It's form fitting, and I don't spend all that time at the gym for nothing. After all, what's the point of working out if people can't bear witness to my oversized muscles? It would be a complete waste of time! My life would be pretty meaningless I'd say.

I love talking to all the guys at the gym while I'm wearing my lycra. We talk about interesting things: football, reps, how many chicken wings I ate last night. Because my lycra is so revealing, the ladies at the gym can see my rippling muscles while I ride the exercise bike. Then when I'm done, I'm all sweaty and I get off the bike. Everyone can admire the rough outline of my cock and balls. I'm looking pretty good, feeling good; not bad for a 49 year old guy!

I go around and bump some more fists, talk to the guys doing reps about guy things, like protein shakes, and racism. I can tell everyone is thinking "Glen is in good shape. He certainly doesn't look ridiculous!"

My favorite thing to do in my lycra is ride around Prospect Park on my $4000 racing bike. Spending that much money on a bike certainly was not a product of a mid-life crisis, why would you be thinking that? Sometimes I join a group of like ten other guys, and we ride around together, pretending we're in the Tour De France. We love to buzz by other cyclists who aren't taking things seriously enough. They yell "why do you have to come that close to me?" but I don't see why it isn't a totally acceptable activity for someone nearing 50. I love to angrily tell all the people going the wrong way on the bike path that they're breaking the rules. Then I give them one of my famous glares of disapproval. Satisfaction guaranteed. Sometimes I ask people on the side of the bike path that might have some problem with their bike if they're OK. I yell "you good? you good?" as I speed by them. They're always good, they always wave me on.

Off I go, always ready for what's next.