Hill repeats this morning. Tired of watching everyone disappear when the going gets steep. Hot and humid today, heaving lungs, moisture-filled, the the peristaltic metallic tang in the back of my throat that comes just before vomiting, on the steepest pitch of the final repeat. That's about right.
Suffering is good, but it has to be done in measure. Life is for living, not preparing for living.
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