For each of the past six or seven years, I’ve started the year with a lengthy wish-list of races I wanted to do. They usually ranged from the very do-able (sprint triathlons and mountain bike races) to the nearly impossible (half-ironmans and double centuries). What makes a race feasible? Well, I have to be capable of training for it without having it completely take over my life.
Just tonight, my wife and I were at a religious event (a baptism, if you must know), and we ran into another couple we know who do endurance sports. I said to the wife, “So what’s your big race this year?” She started talking about a particular half marathon, which I think she’s done before.
Then I asked about her husband, who’s a novice cyclist. “Oh, he’s doing a century in Park City.” Then I remembered: I’d already talked to him about this. “Isn’t it 175 miles?” I asked. Turns out, it was. And she didn’t know that. Nor was she thrilled with that information.
But then, they asked me what my major race was for this year. And I thought about it … and thought some more … and thought some more … and nothing really came to mind.
Then I realized something: I don’t really have a wishlist this year. Like, at all. That’s a bit odd. I want to go back to the same old hill climb I’ve done for the last two Septembers, and I’ve talked about doing some running races for fun. But I don’t really have a wishlist.
Now, suddenly, I’m worried. This just isn’t normal for me. I don’t really understand why I’m feeling this way. So I’m scrambling. “There must be something somewhere I’ve always wanted to do.” But when I find something, it just seems like I’ve either done the race or it has been canceled. The half-ironman? Nah, I don’t think it’s going to work out. And my enthusiasm for it has waned.
So I don’t know. For the first time in a long time, I’m really not that enthused about anything.