...which is what I'm calling my race this Sunday.
It's an experiment, and I don't really know how it will go, but I've done all that I can and plan on enjoying whatever the day throws at me. I'm just glad to be out there, and with friends to boot!
The details are, quite honestly, not as important to me at this time. I know what I have trained for, the heart rates and paces and numbers and miles, and I will throw myself into getting that when that gun goes off. I tend to do better when I relax a bit, step away from the buzz, and take the pressure off until I'm standing there in line and hear that gun. Unconventional, I know. It's why I stayed as far away from Ironman Village as I could in '06. Just how I roll, I guess.
The pressure has been on in another, much more important way this week. I got another call. Another biopsy. Another diagnosis of cancer for someone I care about very much. I'm 30 years old, and I'm angry. I'm angry that I've had way too many of these calls. That I've already had two funerals this year. That I'm seeing too many of my friends, eyes red and voices shaking, dealing with these calls.
I'm scared that someday I might have to do the calling.
Suddenly, race day is seeming less of a fear or proving ground and more of a declaration...of my health, my friendships, and my hope. I'll enjoy every second because I know how lucky I am to be there, to put a number on, and to have a race day.
And that's it, really.
UPDATE: Stage 2, with a 90% survival rate. Not as good as Stage NONE, but as good of news as we could get. I still might have to get Mouse's cross stitch project, though. :)