There is a stiff wind blowing.
Some might call it only a breeze and welcome its presence.
But on a bike, at least for a novice like me, that breeze adds to the resistance and difficulty.
I chug along, pushing with one foot after the other, keeping an eye on the odometer. When it hits 10 miles, I can stop.
Yes, I know. Ten miles is nothing to bike. But with my breathing problems, every mile is mild torture.
So why do I do it?
Not because I like to suffer. I do it because exercise is good for me.