Tommy and I rode the gritty, half-wet forest yesterday in the middle of a muggy day. I suffered for the full two hours whether I was in the front, briefly, or in the back, mostly. He just rode away whenever he wanted. I can't explain it. Not enough food? A high dew point? I have no words. I took myself to a Fire Flow yoga class to have a word with myself tonight and the answer was clear. Front of pack, back of pack it does not matter. The pain is the trophy.