The night before the race I find 1000s why I should not go.
The battle is furious and at the end, I must use all my willpower to set up the alarm clock for a stupid o’clock in the morning. And even then I may have a weak moment too. But I go anyway (My mum says I was always stubborn kid)
And then, during and after the race I’m so happy! (Go figure out!)
I am waiting for at the start line, adrenaline is pumping, and I feel great. And I realise (for 478 times in my life) that I’m racing because I love it, because I can, and because why not?!
(I am going to print out this statement and stick it on the fridge doors! Will this help next time?)
This race was no different. It would have been so easy to say no, to cancel, to no-show.
We had a dinner with friends and now, at 11pm at night, only a couple hours before the start, we have ordered another drinks.
It would have been so convenient to stay longer in the bed, to cuddle and to have a lazy Saturday morning.