But my heart just wasn't in it. I've spent many a late night toiling into wee hours with swollen hands and bloody knuckles to make it to a race. Loading the van at 3 am, sleeping for an hour and then driving 10. Gone searching all over god's creation to locate the part desperately needed to compete. Paid exorbitant overnight shipping rates to get stuff on time that never seems to come on time. Written myself list after list so as not to forget important things, but always missing one or two.
Last week, I had simply had enough. Daily life frustrations have been piling up for the last few months and I was not willing to deal with the stress of slamming together a half-ass race weekend on top of it. Been there, done that, so many friggin' times. So for the first time in years of racing that I wasn't injured or dead broke, I bagged it. I didn't go. Because I just didn't feel like it.
A great racer once told me: "If your head isn't 100% in it, get the fuck off the motorcycle, because you are going to get hurt." My head wasn't there, and I didn't think I could get it there in time.
So I stayed home and went play riding for five hours on the KDX and had a blast. I don't know if it was a mature decision or just being a pussy. I don't care. I feel OK about it.
And you can bet your ass I'll be at the next race.
|Hello old friend. Let's play.