It is late. I should be asleep. In just a few hours I am going to bike for what, at this point, is not that hard a distance to travel. But still. I should sleep.
I dunno, man.
Nervous isn’t the word. Anxious isn’t the word.
Anticipatious? That sounds about right.
I realized, in talking to a friend tonight, that I’ve NEVER done anything like this. Never formally done a race or a ride. Never worn a number. Never bounded out when someone said, “On your mark, get set, go!” It’s wild and weird and not the punk rock lifestyle I slathered in for forever.
And, after the ride, I will be alone. No son, no ladyfriend. I will do this and I will sit alone. My phone won’t even ring. Baby Mama will go off and celebrate with her boyfriend. They will chirp excitedly about the ride and the crowd and The Feeling. And then they will take my son and drive to the next town over and I will go home by myself.
Nobody will celebrate with me. Nobody should.
I’m tired of this journey, all of these journeys. I want to go home.