Every year on December 31 I compiled a list of resolutions. Things that I will do - or stop doing - in order to become a better person. I won't laze about all day in my underpants. I'll join a gym, drink spinach milkshakes and return library books on time. I won't tell fibs. I'll be polite to telesales people. I won't log onto www.bigbusts.com during working hours. (Not that I actually ever did, Boss. Honest. Okay, one time but I was doing research for a story on politicians who have been busted - it's a mistake anyone could make.)
However, on December 31 2007 I resolved to never again make another resolution. You see on January 3 when you phone the pizza delivery guy and he says, "Hi Jonathan, we've been waiting for your call" and you're still in your underpants and the first of 24 R350 monthly deductions has just gone from your bank account into the bank account of the gym, which you know you'll never set foot in - you feel depressed. As a result of my no-more-resolutions resolution I had a blissful, guilt-free 2008.
On December 31 2008 I broke my resolution and made a resolution. Why? Perhaps it was because I became caught up in the Obama Yes-We-Can frenzy. Or maybe it was because after being part of the Cycle Tour's Training Wheels programme for two months I was overconfident. What I do know is that on December 31, while sitting in my underwear and munching on a sice of pizza, I resolved that in 2009 I would overtake another cyclist on my bike.
In my two months training for Cycle Tour I had become tired of eating other cyclists' dust. Always the overtakee, never the overtaker. When I first hear the cyclist behind me some macho instinct takes over and I pump the pedals as hard as I can, but it's no use. The overtaker gives me a patronizing nod of the head as he or she sails past. I have come to hate The Nod. It was time someone ate my dust.
And then it happened. Just nine days into the new year I was on the road and saw a speck on the horizon. My time has come, I thought. I'm going to tough it out. I put my head down and pedalled furiously. When I looked up the speck was no longer a speck - it was a fleck. I put my head down again and when I looked up 696 pedal strokes later the fleck was, in fact, a dit. There were two possible conclusions: either my eyesight was improving with each pedal stroke or I was gaining on the cyclist. Can it be? I wondered. Yes It Can!
About 10 minutes later I looked up and saw that Speck-Fleck-Dot was a silhouette. A minute later I was within striking distance of my two-wheeled prey, who I noticed had grey hair. A silver-haired saddle sage with kilometres of experience under his tyres. I was exhausted, but the fact that I was just a few metres away of becoming an overtaker inspired me to greatness - this is what motivates Lance Armstrong, I thought, as I cycled side-by-side my victim. He looked up and, holding his gaze, I did it: I gave him The Nod. "Great day for riding," I wheezed as I sailed past. Although what I really meant was: "Prepare to eat my dust, sucker!"
"It's beautiful," he agreed. "I've really missed it. It's my first time on my bike since my hip replacement."
I don't care. I'll take it. My resolution was to overtake someone and I did. There will be no more resolutions from me this year - just revolutions. Completing the Cycle Tour will take 54 173 revolutions. I hope to make every single one of those revolutions.