The emotions of a cycling interval told via the many faces of Donald Trump

The dreaded cycling interval. Is this even cycling? As the end of the year nears I begin to tire of the weekly interval session. Physically, but mostly mentally. One, sometimes two, a week since January, the intensity increasing month by month.

Now it’s eyeballs out interval time, the moment of the year when intervals are best described as ‘oh my god I can taste my dinner again’ intervals. Ugh. I’d hate to see myself during an interval. What a horror show. I doubt I’d recognise the tormented soul punishing himself for no apparent reason.

The many contorted faces of Donald Trump spring to mind.

Warning: this blog post contains images of a graphic nature which some readers may find offensive. A hard interval session may actually be preferable to viewing the images within.

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