I’m up in Maine for work–as part of the behind-the-scenes crew for our SCI Mountain Challenge fundraiser and as a participant, and I’m quaking in my
boots trail shoes. Anxious about all the moving pieces involved in the event. Anxious about the actual climbing. And, of course, anxious about Thing 2, even though she’s in my sight.
Maine can soothe the soul, though. Usually I feel it when I see this sign:
(read the small print: “the way life should be.”)
This time around, though, the sign didn’t work its usual magic. A lot of stuff swirling around in my mind. How will the event pan out? Will the competitors enjoy the event, the venue, the food, the logistics? And the challenge itself: will teams be fit enough to climb 5 mountains over two days without killing themselves? And Thing 2, my flibbertygibbet. My mind is struggling to put everything in its rightful place. I needed more than a sign.
But, the next morning?
Here was the view from the top of the trail I used to stretch my legs yesterday morning on a 5.5 mile jaunt around Sunday River:
(The white? That’s fog. This was about 6am in Western Maine. I’ve always felt that Maine should be in the Atlantic time zone, not eastern (which is the same time zone as NJ and MICHIGAN, for crying out loud). Right now in NJ, you don’t see the morning sun this time of year til nearly 6:30. Here in Maine, roosters can start crowing before 5:30am. I love morning sun, and have never gotten use to the late winter sunrises in NJ. Anyway, I digress…)
So I’m a bundle of nerves, but sometimes jitters are good. Like pre-race, pre-event jitters. They’re just a sign that you’re prepared, well-trained, and just jumping at the bit to perform, be it athletically or socially.
Unless they make you throw up.