It has been seventy days since I last turned a crank while gliding over tarmac. No wind in the hair or sun on my face. A few gym work outs and fantastic intentions to ride my trainer have resulted in exactly two indoor rides for a total of forty five minutes. My legs are thin and my abdomen resembles that of ol’ Kris Kringle himself. And so, delusions of grandeur I have none, and failure is imminent.
Is forty miles each day for eight days straight really so difficult?
The mind can be fooled to believe that anything is possible…
Before The Five Hundred begins.