“Let’s go!” my spandex-clad husband cheerfully declares as we round a corner on our bikes. I’ve been enthusiastically pedaling along with him but suddenly my eyes see it…THE HILL.
“Did we make a wrong turn?” I ask with hope in my voice. His sprint to the start of the incline serves as my answer.
I start strong.
By halfway up I think I might die.
By two thirds up I’m hoping I will.
I wave farewell to the caterpillar racing past my tire.
The scenes of my life flash before my eyes and I notice a lot of them contain chocolate.
Then suddenly…I’m there.
At the top.
I would whoop and holler with joy except I can’t breathe. But I do manage a lopsided grin. And my husband says, “Aren’t you glad you didn’t quit?” Despite a strong desire to smack him on his spandex-covered tush for putting me through this, I have to admit he’s right. Stinking hill. It was worth it after all.
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