cross-roads

Simmering below the conscious, choices, options and an unsettling feeling of dread. Nothing life altering, yet a weight, a feeling of sand being poured into a burlap bag, placed evenly across my shoulders. I have no idea how big or full the bag is. I haven't employed a dual mirror system to check. For that takes reflection, a pleasure I do not have the luxury to devote time to. Tick, tick, you hear it? A deadline approaches, or is it two? I can store large complex decisions, placating them until the proper moment of action, deflecting ripples of inputs that would cause an early maturation of the process. Yet, every so often, a choice is required that can threaten the very existence of the decision, sending it cascading into any number of different directions.

Trailways announced a Sunday rain-date this weekend. Most assuredly, they will use it and I will be forced to chose between that which is fleeting and steadfast. Due to spiraling costs, I'm in the twilight of racing career, I want to race every moment of my being. The reality is that TWs will be the only game in town and will welcome 50+ entrants for 24 positions. I will start upfront in my heat race. A tacky surface should tip the balance in my favor to qualify. Yet without a different set of shocks, my gas Penske's will probably fail me again. Testing my confidence. Failure to just appear places me last the next time I return to the speed palace. A heavy penalty, one which makes the challenge (and lure) that much greater. In the past to avoid a confrontation of desires, I typically and automatically favored a dust filled event capped off by the ever loathsome 2 AM car wash. Yet, this time I'm perplexed. A 3pm soccer game, unimpeded by the weather, awaits. My commitment to the pitch is renewed. Not for the love of the game, but for the camaraderie that exists. Over the last 4 months, a growing compassion, not felt since my days leading my BU hockey mates, is clouding my typical emotions and actions. After college, soccer was never same to me. The game became merely a vehicle for exercise. Soccer can always be there, a sport that I can play regularity with success. It just doesn't feel right to abandon the people that I've grown to respect and care for.

Blasting into a corner with your hair on fire, feeling that car strain under the g-forces, within inches of your competitors... the feeling will never escape me, but then neither will the satisfaction of giving your talents and companionship to others all for the pursuit of common goals. Turn left or right. I guess we'll see.