#10

On the first day of the year, she was running late to the party. She had wanted to walk because the weather was beautiful, but that would take too long. So she rented a bike, one of the newer models that used electricity to increase its speed. An ideal vehicle for someone pressed for time. She zoomed up the block, now equally concerned with catching rays of warm winter sun as with the ticking clock. As she neared the last big hill before the party, she was grateful for the extra oomph provided by the e-bike. Until she paused at a stoplight while a man on a bike wearing the full spandex outfit that bike racers wear pulled out ahead. At first she planned to just pass him as he began to labor up the hill. She could do so easily. But she could not bring herself to do it. He was working too hard. His calf muscles were swelling into watermelons. And perhaps this was his first ride? An inaugural run to make good on a resolution? Imagine how damaging it would be if a lady all done up for lunch with a bottle of wine in her basket sped past? To eat her dust might ruin his year. So she hovered just behind, struggling to keep her pace a step slower. She would be very late to the party, which was not the way she hoped to start the new year.