There is always that person who is late to the party. Every party. So this is where I enter.
I am physched to be making this trip with a bunch that will make this one of those experiences that you remeber for life and then somewhere off in the future you remind each other of some funny little thing that happend, a little inside joke that no one else will get, or a drunken moment caught on film, the butt of all jokes on the trip and the smiling bane of your existence forever.
What has me scared shitless at moments is that in the midst of this awesome trip is that I have to jump into freezing waters, the murky home of things larger than me - and I ain't small, with teeth, and swim for my life against the tide to get to the other side. The rest of the race is really all good. The swim is what has me concerned. But... nothing ventured, nothing gained. I stand on the threshold of this experience like a first time parachuter. Holy shit I'm gonna do this... here I goooooooooooo.......! Have I mentioned I'm a complete pussy about cold water and that normally I don't even begin to race until mid-July becasue of it? No? Well, now you know.
Shrinkage is an understatement.