Victoria Pendleton has perfect skin. Its luminosity is due to a fitness regime that pumps beautifying oxygen round her body. These annoying athletic women with enviable skin often have slightly less enviable legs - like giant sturdy oaks. Incredibly, though, the best female sprint cyclist in the world, a sport that requires thighs like tugboats, has the most exquisitely turned legs too.
We meet for a ride round Hyde Park. Since winning gold at the Olympics last year, Pendleton has been a woman in demand - her success, and her looks, have made her the glamour girl of British cycling. Today she is promoting special edition Oakley sunglasses designed to raise awareness for breast cancer care charity Lavender Trust. She is also the face of another cancer charity, the Pedal it Pink campaign which is organising a marathon cycle ride (26.2 miles), and a half marathon for the less confident, in the Midlands in October (there's still time to sign up, ladies).
Despite her success, it seems Pendleton is subject to the same petty frustrations, inconsiderate behaviour and dangers as the rest of us two-wheeled road users - and a few more besides.
"People slow down for horses but not cyclists. It makes me so depressed that I can be riding in full GB kit, doing nothing controversial, and still people rush past," she says.
"If I can, I'll let them have it, 'Do you realise you could have killed me?'"
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Her friend and fellow Olympian Sir Chris Hoy goes one step further. "I was out with him once in Manchester and some idiot streaked past us. Chris went all out to catch him at the next lights and then stuck his head in the window to give the guy a memorable lecture on the safe distance to give cyclists."
The thought of Olympic champions fighting it out on the road like the rest of us is amusing. But not as funny as the thought of testosterone-charged male cyclists biting off more than they can chew in an effort to show off in front of a pretty girl. "They see the ponytail and think, 'She cannot be faster,' and I'll hear them clicking through the gears as they sprint to catch up," laughs Pendleton. "They'll pull alongside for a chat. I just slowly pick up the pace; soon they're panting to keep up both the speed and the banter."
I wonder if she ever takes pity on them. "Nah, I'd rather see them exhausted than tell them, 'Look, I'm an Olympic champion, mate, it's not going to happen'."