Well, shit turds and whatnot. The Shenandoah Mountain 100 is this weekend. This will be my 8.57th time doing it since 2006. Yes, I shoulda just finished back in 2012 so I would just be one more away from that 10th time which is rumored to be rewarded with five minutes in a private room behind the curtain with promoter Chris Scott...
Damn. Just seemed like a better option at the time.
Once again, I gather and sort and think and ponder and wonder and throw things.
Will my time spent in Colorado and Utah benefit me or did all the soakings in various breweries and establishments combined with the eating of an occasional 2,500 calorie meal in conjunction with sleeping sporadically in beds, hammocks and backseats take me to an even lower level than I was before I left?
I haven't really "raced" my bike cycle since the Trans-Sylvania Epic.
I realize I've been dopey as of late. I'm starting to wonder if I'm not addicted to racing to the point that I need it to function. Something about the desire to compete. To chase down carrots. To feel like I'm working towards a goal. Dunno. Like MLK said, "I have a goal... to one day, have a goal."
The front tire decision has been plaguing me all week.
The sad equation of effort VS the amount of fucks that I might have that could be given.
I think a better goal(s) would be to dip out early on Saturday night, secure coffee on Sunday morning, be more vocal if some "athlete" holds up a conga line on the first bit of single track, and eat more pizza at aid five. I think those are more reasonable, much less lofty goals I can get my head around.
That, and try not to leave any bodily fluids in The Pisgah Tavern/The Hub sprinter van, as I promised that it would return in one piece, or at the very least, as few clean but ready to assemble pieces as possible.
I can't wait. The dysfunctional family reunion of the East Coast endurance racing awaits. Even creepy Uncle Watts is coming.