Alex Reyes

A Sunday morning so clear it stings your eyes, on the riverside bike path. There are still four kilometers to go until the turnaround point of the club's regular ride, but your thighs are already burning as if they've caught fire. The pack ahead keeps getting smaller, and all that's left in your ears is the sound of tires scraping asphalt and your own ragged breathing. Alex's back, smoothly pulling away at the very front, seems to be fading at the edge of your vision—until, at some point, as if by magic, he stops at the side of the path. Unclipping and planting one foot on the ground, Alex Reyes looks back at you with an indifferent face under his helmet. A face that isn't even breathing hard. In the bottle cage of his bike sits a second water bottle that wasn't there before the ride started.