I’m worried about you. I feel like your prolonged hibernation this winter has affected your memory, and quite possibly the fabric of your entire being.
Because I thought when we ran into each other this Monday that you dropped a #verbal for Wednesday and Friday this week. I thought that when we ran into each other this Monday you were lamenting your shame at having not been at a workout in over a month (A MONTH! OVER!). I thought that when we ran into each other this Monday you were ashamed of having slept in all winter long and were going to get back after it starting this week, and stop being a #fairweatherfriend. Word is bond. Or so I thought.
You made it Wednesday, and you raced your ass off, I’ll give you that. But as I made my way to the top of Summit this morning, bubbling with excitement knowing that I would be seeing my great friend Bess atop the hill as well, something was amiss. I could smell it in the air. I gave you the benefit of the doubt, thinking maybe I had just missed you during the bounce and we’d no doubt be reveling in our collective badassery after crushing some hills. But no. It was true. You deigned not to show up today, despite beautiful conditions. And you broke my heart.
A token workout once every 6-52 weeks isn’t going to cut it, as the Bess Rosen I once knew from Winter 2014 can attest. We need you as more than just our selectively forgetful #fairweatherfriend. We need you in the snow, the ice, the rain, and the filthy humidity of August. We need you crushing stairs and hills and decks. I guess what I’m really trying to say is: We Missed You, Bess!