Being Monitored

I think I must have forgotten how long and treacherous the trail to our secret training grounds actually was. Either that or I just never noticed it before. 

The path forward just absolutely ridden with the steepest climbs and sharpest plunges. Don't even get me started on how many I nearly tripped over a hidden root or ditch. 

Maybe I'm just a bit off-kilter from being on a bike for too long. Then again Irene's been navigating through the same pitfalls as I was… all while wearing heels, and she's just clacking on ahead without the slightest stumble. 

Maybe that's the secret. Maybe I should start wearing heels like her. 

By the time we reached our spot—the open glade of vast skies and sprawling meadows—I was about ready to resign myself to a life rolling around in a wheelchair with the way my calves were flaring up, like I'd eroded all the muscle marching through navigating all those hazards, it genuinely was a realistic concern for me.