It happened to me today, in fact. Yup, 17 years down a rat-hole.
You see, I moved to British Columbia 17 years ago. My first home: Whistler, BC. It was a lifestyle choice... go to the biggest and best and ski 'till the snow is all gone.
Today was an epic day. But it started out on thin ice. Wader called late last night with a very tempting offer: "Tomorrow morning. I'll be at your place at 7:00 am. We're going back-country skiing at Cypress."
I immediately fell into the morass of analysis paralysis.
The cons: It's going to be icy. My ribs are broken. Wader will kick my ass. I don't know how to use the gear. I'll have to get up early. I'm out of shape. I'll get further behind at work. I just about froze in the fog up on Grouse last night, so I'll freeze for sure tomorrow morning. I'll fall down a tree well and die a cold, slow and miserable death.
The pros: I love Wader and I've not seen him in a while. I really, really want to try back-country skiing now that I've got the basic gear. It might have snowed on Cypress last night. I have to chat with Wader about the Western States 100-mile run soon anyway, so going back-country skiing with him is wayyyy cheaper than going drinking with him. It's supposed to be sunny tomorrow. I can work in the afternoon and all night. What if I get hit by a bus tomorrow morning, anyway?
I truly prefer to keep things upbeat and positive, but every now and then something happens that ticks me off so much I feel compelled to tell the world about it.
First it was my calf. For some reason, in late January when I was in fact feeling strong like bull, something in my calf muscle went "boing!" and that was that. Every time I went for a run of more than 15 minutes, I could feel my muscle tear again, ripping kind of like a piece of paper under my skin.
