Let's get it started

If you're checking in after 9 a.m. AST Saturday morning, check on my progress here.

About 12 more hours to wait. I feel a little nauseated with anxiety. I wouldn't want it any other way.

However, I can't really pinpoint why I feel this way. It's not that I have performance anxiety because I'm trying to win this thing. This is a popular race, packed with some extremely skilled and strong winter endurance cyclists, and I'm one of those weekend warriors who will be thrilled to simply finish ... even if it takes me 48 hours because I spent the last 25 miles trudging through eight inches of snow with my bike on my back (actually, it would be really cool if I still finished after all that.) And it's not that I'm convinced that I'm riding into my death ... I did believe that last year, and this feeling is different. It doesn't have the same immediacy. It doesn't have the same bite. It's a dull kind of stress, worn smooth by time and contemplation. It's the kind of stress I imagine a person would feel if they had spent hours frantically fighting off some kind of danger, like a pursuing black bear, only to end up at the top of a tree with the bear closing in. They know at that point that they've done all they can do. What's going to happen is going to happen. It's acceptance. The calm before the storm.

It's been a gloomy sort of day. Overcast and foggy in these wide open spaces that I'm not used to. I spent the day in Palmer putting my bike together, packing my stuff, drinking water, trying to eat. It's hard to eat. I have to pop Tums after every little snack ... and little snacks are all I've been able to get down in one sitting. Now I have to take a shower and get some sleep, and that's going to be difficult, too. But I know this waiting is physically challenging because this event is important to me. I like to have goals in my life that I care deeply about. I do feel sick now, but, like I said ... I wouldn't have it any other way.

The race starts at 9 a.m. The weather forecast looks good. Trail reports are promising. What's going to happen is going to happen. I'm already past acceptance. Bring on the attack.

It's my bike in a box

These are the last-minute details.

Since I may not get another chance to post before Saturday (but probably will), I wanted to post a link to the Susitna 100 Web site. Last year, they posted checkpoint check-in times during the race. It was surprisingly up-to-date all the way until I wandered across the finish line at 10 a.m., about five hours after I left the last checkpoint with only 13 miles to go. If that wasn't enough of a delayed finish, they didn't actually post that I had finished until after 1 p.m. The time delay caused my parents, friends and even a few people out in bloggerland some understandable anxiety. So I post this link with the disclaimer that I may be where they say I am ... hoofing deliriously down the trail at a rate of about 1 mph. Or, I may not. But please check it out. When it gets really lonely out there, it's a comforting thought to believe that some people are - in a distant way - watching you.

Actually packing all of my gear into two bags was an interesting experience. Geoff and I are going to be gone for five days, and we actually have an airport baggage weight problem.

Geoff: "Did you know they have a 50-pound limit on your luggage?"

Me: "All of your luggage?"

Geoff: "No, each bag. But that bike box is over 40 pounds. How much do you think all of that other stuff weighs?"

Me, looking at a bed stacked a foot-high with random gear: "It may be less than 50 pounds."

Geoff: "It doesn't look it. Can't you leave some stuff home?"

Me, feeling deflated: "I haven't even packed anything for the four other days yet. That's just stuff I need in the race."

Geoff: "Hmmm. Better wear something the the airport you can wash a few times."

And in a few hours, I'm going to have to hoist it all into a car and somehow carry it into the airport. What's even stranger to me is that, eventually, I'm going to have to carry all that stuff 100 miles.

I'll probably post a pre-race report tomorrow. But in case I don't get a chance, thank you to everyone who has been watching and who has wished me well.

Fun at its peak

A few people have asked me how Geoff is dealing with his foot injury. Today, he had a really good day. Not only did he get a job offer to be a cook at a natural food grocery store and deli, but he also ran four miles without any pain in his feet. A pain-free four-mile run does not a successful 100-mile race make, but he's feeling less certain that he has a stress fracture, and more certain that he his going to run the race. Certain enough that he's at least going to stand at the starting line Saturday morning.

I spent the morning fixing up my bike so I can take it apart tomorrow. I've spent a better part of the evening creating an iPod playlist for the race. Intertwined with my old staples like Modest Mouse and Built to Spill are a few random selections that carry vivid memories of last year's Susitna 100: "D.A.R.E." by the Gorillaz and "Scrub" by TLC. It's always interesting to me when certain songs tie themselves irrevocably to particular moments in the past. So it's unfortunate that the one song that sweeps me instantly back to the dripping darkness of that soggy night in February 2006 isn't actually a song at all - it's a jingle.

Before Susitna 2006, I never listened to music while riding - at all. But people mentioned that if I found myself alone and struggling in the middle of the night, a little FM/AM radio would help me stay sane. So I took their advice, and when the night became really dark and lonely, I turned it on for the first time. I had to flip through every single notch on the dial before I came to the one station the radio could pick up. It was some top-40 station out of Anchorage, playing the most random mix of pre-selected music that any midnight radio show could hope to find. And between broadcasts of choice selections like "You're Beautiful" by James Blunt and "Unforgiven" by Metallica - literally after every other song - the station played its one and only commercial: a promo for the Mat-Su Valley tourism board. So every ten minutes, a giddy group of singing banshees would wail in my ear ... "Yahoo, Mat-Su! Fun is at its peak in the Valley!" That night, as fatigued and desperate for companionship as I was, every single advertising spot made me cringe.

But now, every time that hideous jingle enters my head, I think of the way the distant city lights of Anchorage burned orange over the wilderness. I think of the way those Valium-laced voices sang, "Don't miss the sights ... Nature puts on a show with the northern lights." And it makes me smile.

And if I could find an mP3 of that commercial, I'd definitely add it to my Susitna 2007 playlist.