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?

Seriously, is this how it ends? It's the new year. By this time, I usually have 5 or 6 major races on my calendar. This year, I have a couple of minor social races inked in, but I cannot bring myself to commit to anything "big."

Usually, the memory of the fun, exciting aspects of a big race outweighs the memory of the pain and discomfort. Or the lure of accomplishing a major goal outweighs the pain of a DNF. But this year, I just keep thinking about clean sheets. Clean teeth. Real food. 

Is this how it ends?