Whirsh is a Jerk

Yesterday, Christine and I hit Spear Street for an easy dozen. It was nice to get out of town and even though the wind threatened to push us off the road at times, the rolling hills and new sights were much needed break. We even found/rediscovered the perfect downhill to practice downhill running on, since both of us resemble a weeble when we try to run downhill.

The views weren’t bad when we started…

I got to try out my new shades! (Tifosi Tyrant)

The only bad part of the run was the jerkface who felt the need to stop and yell at us because “he had almost been hit head-on by another car” who had given us room to run. Sorry the other car gave some runner girls space, brah? So if your husband (or you) drives a purple Nissan 350Z convertible with the Vermont license plate “Whirsh,” you’re married to/are a jerk.

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