But Wait

So I have been dealing with the idea of not racing anymore (except for shorter, less stressful races). Thinking about relaxing, enjoying the runs, and staying clean and fed and, above all else, comfortable. That's what I think when I am not running.

But when I am running, I am loving it, and planning for the next big race. And then I come home and find that I cannot commit to the next big race.

I talked with Avery, my oldest grandson, about trying Run Rabbit Run again. I admitted that part of my motivation to finish it was gone, since some 60+ year old woman has already done that. I told him that she took a one hour head start.

Avery discussed the merits of playing it safe by taking the extra hour versus going bold and starting with everyone else.

A couple weeks after that conversation, we had this text exchange:

So, I wonder what I will do.....Care to weigh in?

Time to fill out the dance card?

I wrote this back in November, after a hard season of racing, pacing, and assisting with other races:

            I was tired, I didn’t want to race. Ever again. I didn’t want to run. Ever again. I fell into bed. A warm bed with clean sheets. Clean sheets and a pillow. Not sleeping in the back end of the truck. Curled up with Zumi and Sadie. Snuggled. With Mary Ann. Tired. Too tired.

            Clean. I was clean. I had real food. My teeth were brushed. I even got to floss. I was clean. I was in a real bed. I was snuggled. I didn’t have to face heat or cold. Wind or rain. Hours of being dirty. Days of eating aid station food.

            I was tired. It felt good to snuggle. Good to rest. Good to sleep. And be clean.

            What was next? Another race? Maybe. Maybe not. I was tired. Too fucking tired.

            Comfortable. How horrible, to be comfortable and out of the elements.

            I need to recover. Get some sleep. Gain a couple of pounds. I was at the lowest weight I had been since I was in my early 30’s and suffering from depression. Not dangerously thin but on the edge. Hungry. Wanted real food. Clean sheets. Brushed teeth. Not too hot. Not too cold. No chafing. With a real bathroom and a toilet that flushes. Soft toilet paper.

Comfortable. Safe. Fed. Clean. 

Is this how it ends? I just decide that comfort is more important than adventure?