It's here.
This is that time of the year where that twist in your stomach, more commonly referred to as "the butterflies," becomes a common theme because every mile run before now was meant for the next two weeks.
Every penny saved in the bank is about to be withdrawn.
Every run holds a specific purpose, now more than ever. Each run and each day is like puzzle-piece carefully being placed into its correct spot.
A distant anxiety lingers in the air like musical notes, enhancing that buzz of anticipation that makes it harder to relax, harder to eat, harder to sleep... I believe the more appropriate term would be: Anxiety-induced-insomnia.
Blood races through the body in tiny speeding cars with their gas tanks filled to the max. Energy in all forms, physical, emotional, mental are at their height.
Peaking, is the term.
And the only time I ever found it joyful was when the gun shot off and the nearly 200 bodies stormed the field to release these musical notes into the sky for good. Everything in between was quite simply filled with what is best described as angst. The bottling process was never fun...
Or maybe that was just me?
We've entered into the realm of no-turning-back. We're in the final two weeks of the season, and this week, Thursday and Friday in particular, decide who goes to The Big Dance in Colorado Springs on the 27th.
We've got 20 regional championships on tap between Thursday and Friday, 17 run Thursday. So naturally, I'll be utilizing Hermione's Time Turner to catch them all. And if I just lost you with that reference, yikes...(on my part...)
In other words: given the enormity of the week ahead, I'll do my best to cover as many meets as humanly possible...
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