Wednesday, April 27, 2011
...and then there's that time, after you finish your race, and rinse out your stinging eyes, and slam another Coke. After you check in with your director, and ride down the Mogollon, and change out of your spandex, and help pack the van. After you drive for an hour back to your homestay, and wait your turn for a shower, and eat a sandwich (the first solid food you've eaten since breakfast), and throw your laundry in the machine.
Then, finally, there's that time: that magical time when you flop on your bed, and think to yourself "wow -- now that was a hard stage."
You still breathe with caution and care -- filling your lungs too full will undoubtedly hurt, and trigger more coughing, and remind you of hyperventilating up the last three miles of that beastly climb. You still move your legs with caution and care -- the wrong bend in your knee will undoubtedly trigger more leg cramps, the kind you've been gingerly avoiding for the last two hours. You prefer to lie down -- your lower back makes you abundantly aware of its displeasure at being in any position other than on your back, prone. You look forward to your massage* with a mixture of fear and excitement. Fear, because it will probably hurt, because your legs are blown to smithereens. Excitement, because you know how much you need a massage.
Finally you relax -- every muscle, one by one, for the first time all day. Your fingers quickly tap out a blog post, and then you close your computer and take a nap, and dream about doing it all over again tomorrow.
*It still blows my mind that getting a massage is now part of my job. It's something I don't think I'll ever get tired of.