The Big Hill Cheerleader
Near the summit was a lady cheering us on:
|If she’d been passing out beer half-way up that hill, it’d have been more effective|
The Big Hill didn’t kick my ass, but it didn’t exactly kiss it, either. I made it about half way . . . and found myself going slower than the folks walking their bikes. Sweat was pouring off of me in buckets. (You’d think someone had a hose trained on my head.) Lungs were overtaxed and threatening to just shut down completely if I didn’t stop.