November 10. Eight hill repeats. At six in the evening, in the dark, it’s as much rush hour on the waterfront as it is on the parkway next to it, only it’s bikes whizzing by with varying degrees of illumination. I’m afraid of the hill repeats, of the limit to which they take me. Tonight I must have been more scared than usual, because my heartbeat barely ever got above 150. Careful not to run over the spots that are too thickly covered with leaves, because slippery.