Tommy and I rode the gritty, half-wet forest yesterday in the middle of a muggy day. I suffered for the full two hours whether I was in the front, briefly, or in the back, mostly. He just rode away whenever he wanted. I can’t explain it. Not enough food? A high dew point? I have no words. I took myself to a Fire Flow yoga class to have a word with myself tonight and the answer was clear. Front of pack, back of pack it does not matter. The pain is the trophy.
Still, I’m going to bring it for realz next time.