That's all that stands between me and that start line, that metaphorical chance to overcome myself. Three sleeps. Five road crossings. And one chance more to dance under the moonlight when no one is watching.
My head is full. Self judgement ranks too high on my priority list. At least I excepted it. At least I prepared. Spent my time huddled on the kitchen floor in the quiet before stupid o'clock settled in. On the frost covered kitchen floor, since I refuse to turn on the furnace yet. Three sleeps (almost two). Five road crossings. A bridge or two. And a mere glance in the mirror of self defeat.
I've come to know this doubt like an old friend. It twists my reality. It shakes my foundation. It forms itself into voices from my past. The little demons we all carry around. The trouble is, demons are dead weight. And my bucket is too full to offer them space. Yet I'm clinging to some sense of my reality based on the stories they tell me. Based on the whispers that wake me. The 'you can't' that clouds my better judgement. Three sleeps. Five road crossings. A bridge or two. A haunted tunnel. And this opportunity to shed some burden.
I picked this race to tackle my own idea of limit. My intention was to do the entire thing solo. No guide. Just me, alone in the dark at night. Well, that part doesn't really phase me. It's more the alone in the blazing sunlight that terrifies me. Of course I chickened out. Not sure who I'm more afraid of; the me I would have to face if I fail, or the me that I might have to face if I succeed. Three sleeps. Five road crossings. A bridge or two. A haunted tunnel. Two crew, and two loops to memorize all the steps contained within 15miles.
Of course if you know anything about Ultra, anything at all, then you know that no two steps are the same. Even if you take them upon the same ground over and over again. No two steps are the same. And the beasts that wait for you in the dark, all live in your head the rest of the day. May as well fend them off in first person. Three sleeps. Five road crossings. A bridge or two. A haunted tunnel. Two crew. 15 memorized miles. One course reroute that puts us on road for a mile. And the coping strategy of an impatient blind girl.
I've decided they're all liars. The lot of them. All the nah-sayers I've known. All the hogwash i was fed by cruel peers. Liars. They live in my head. Shorten my gait to a graceless pitter patter of tentative tip toes. Fear of the root. Fear of the rock. Fear of the unknown. Fear for the sake of fear. Or so it would seem. Three sleeps. Five road crossings. A bridge or two. A haunted tunnel. Two crew. 15 memorized miles. One course reroute. One more attempt at the coveted hundred miles. And the fidgety dance that comes with careful self negotiation before an adventure.
Why attempt a hundred miles? Why not? I'm not sure anymore. It hangs there... just out of reach. Beyond the realm of my safe place. Past my understanding of the Way Things Are. Why are they this way? Why do I accept them this way? Racing is not my happy place. Give me a trail any day. Let me be the red line that gets lost in the sunset of forever. Let me prance around the highlighted hotspots and lookouts. Let me live in my shoes longer than I have used the same tooth brush. Let me touch the trees without a clock running. Let me converse with the clouds, feel the stars, slide in the mud, run, walk, crawl until someone calls me home. But put a bib on me? Make me accountable? Three sleeps. (ok two and a half). Five road crossings. A bridge or two. A haunted tunnel. Two crew. 15 memorized miles. One course reroute. One more attempt at a hundred miles. 8% vision.
What could possibly go wrong?