I Think I'm Going to Throw Up

Over the past few weekends, I have been forced to engage in an activity I loathe: Exercise. I have tried to avoid this as much as possible, something my portly girth can attest to. Unfortunately, an insipid little person has taken it upon herself to be my personal trainer, whether I want one or not.
The problem all started with a new bike. When riding her tricycle, I could easily keep pace with just a leisurely walk. Having tires only 4 inches in diameter will do that. As we all know from our geometry classes, that's a mere 12.6 inches per rotation of the wheel. Lauren's little legs couldn't drive that puppy fast enough to make me break a sweat. Now, however, she's gotten a big girl bike with wheels a full 12 inches in diameter. THAT'S THREE TIMES THE SIZE!! Couple the bigger wheel with a more standing position and she goes so fast I have to jog to keep up. JOG!!! ME!!! I am especially annoyed when she starts going full tilt, then looks back and laughs at my continued insistence on not wearing a sports bra. She's got a wicked sense of humor for a three year old.
Why not just get a bike of my own? Because, silly reader ... ... I have no answer for that. But it would be tantamount to admitting I am going to work out because now I have made an investment. At least this way, Debbie might, possibly, have to do the running. In all likelihood though, it will be me. I just can't wait to be the laughing stock of the neighborhood when people are actually outside to see my portly behind bounding down the sidewalk in a desperate attempt to not be a negligent father. Hopefully, everyone will keep it down to a snicker until I pass out of earshot. Right now, that's the best I think I can expect.