He biked hard. The fatigue of effort was ever so gently catching up to him, but he pedaled on. It was a race, see, and he could not let his sister win. He never could, and, much to his chagrin, she usually would.

Smiling, she shouted “catch” as she used her phone to remotely put a song into his headphones. Then, the race was on. Through neighborhoods, over hills, across distances. Through the years.

The race was always on. No matter who won.