Today I rode up 9th and Allen to the top of the hill where it intersects with 7th. But today’s death ride was accompanied by Molly, who is three, and the trailer she rides in. That’s right, folks. I pulled a freakin’ 50 pound trailer up that hill. I muttered something like “Who’s your Daddy” when we got to the top and Molly instantly replied with “Daddy, you’re my Daddy.” I guess I had that one coming.
We rolled down the hill faster than we should have and stopped at the school to pick up the Megan. She wanted me to pull them both back up to the top. Considering I could barely stand I opted to not. Maybe next time.
On the serious side, I found out what my lactate threshold feels like. The lungs usually give out long before the legs, but not today. This has got to be a side effect of not smoking. I need a bigger hill.
Who’s the King, baby?