Ten minutes. Ten minutes to go in this interval. I tell myself I can do this. Sweat droplets streak my sunglasses, obscuring my view. Why am I doing this again? Most of the races have been cancelled. People are dying all around the world from a virus. Why am I working so hard? The gravel beneath my bike is smooth, I roll quickly over the surface. The smell of freshly cut hay brings a sense of comfort to me, I breathe deep. Nine minutes. Nine more minutes left, and I feel