As someone who burns through bike parts faster than Victoria Beckham changes designer handbags, I fear this does not bode well.
But such concerns pale into trifling insignificance when I get my first glimpse of the sweeping, banked curves of the velodrome. It's big. And steep. I feel like I'm standing on the bow of the Titanic looking up as an iceberg looms towards me.
I have a flash of Evel Knievel whizzing in circles on a fairground wall of death. I hear a burst of laughter. I realise it's me.