This being part XII of a Racer's Final(s) Diary
I turned in early, expecting another restless night. At least tomorrow it will be over one way or the other. I can't recall the last time I poured myself so entirely into an endeavor and then teetered so closely on the precipice of success. The entire foundation I spent the last year building (the last 3 or 4 years really) now hung from a single, gossamer thread. It's a nauseating, free feeling like the fall off a cliff to know that you have now stacked your training, experience, preparation and all the other mortally flawed, doomed to die hominine machinations up against whatever esoteric schemes fate may have hidden up her sleeves or down her garters. You might as well be playing blackjack with the house hiding all its cards.
Whatever tomorrow's outcome, I know that life will go on. I also assume, that unless I am killed in a freak racing incident, my existence is going to continue as well. If not, than better a life lived in pursuit of something other than safety. I've handled defeat and failure before countless times, I can do it again if necessary, but not without a fight. And a plan. Six of them to be precise.
I wrote them all down, these six plans. I revised some and scrapped others as available intelligence changed. I took into account every probable scenario for the V5 race that did not involve me crashing or having a mechanical problem. I studied the lap times, watched videos, followed competitors in practice. I took notes upon notes for over two months. These six plans were burned into my grey matter. And while each was significantly disparate (not desperate!), they all shared the same outcome: finishing ahead of Kurt. Any of these plans could be modified on the fly, or swapped for another in an instant.
Would six be enough?
|This is Plan #1, in the lead and pulling away.|