Terrified

"But the more a situation tests your skills and confidence, the more committed you have to be. There's a nice paradox here; when you're most nervous, that's when you have to find it within yourself to commit 100 percent. Crazy." —Brian Lopes, Mastering Mountain Biking Skills

I'm about to do something in a few hours that terrifies me. I've been searching for a way to describe this terror that lets you know I don't need to be comforted or reassured.

In many ways, terror is a sweet spot for me.

This isn't the kind of terror that paralyzes, the "I think someone is in the house" kind of terror. It isn't a deer-in-the-headlights panic. But terror is not too strong a word.

Readers, I have so much to tell you of late — who won the "bike" giveaway gift certificate — how I have managed to acquire not one but two great bikes in the last two weeks — about the Tweed Ride — but this morning, let me tell you, I do not know what I have gotten myself into.

God's Country. 2 mile run, 12.5 mile bike, 2 mile run, on the flat and fast Lawrence River Trails. I have never (aside from one ridiculous and abortive attempt 8 years ago) ridden on dirt. So let's just go race, shall we?

Terror comes from not knowing what I'm in for. And I like that. That I've thrown myself in way over my head and have no idea how deep and cold it's about to get. I like that. That spectacular failure and spectacular breakthroughs potentially fission off of every moment. I love that.

And I love race day. I couldn't stand the thought of waiting another month for it. And to race with these nutty MTB types, the happiest people on the planet? Then to go drink beer? I'm so there. It'll be a big party, the whole day. Zoolander is racing, and Tim, and Seth, and the Schultzes, and probably some other people I know.

Oo! That's what this particular terror is. It's like the thin red cinnamon stripe swirled up a candy cane.

The rest is candy.