(Moved over from another blog that got phased out).
I had a nice evening hanging out with some cool ladies at a clothes swap; drinks, gossip, clothing, all the hallmarks of a nice evening. It was a few days before a 4 day long trip, and the anticipation was pretty high. I got home early enough and hopped into bed, buried into my pile of pillows and blankets and zoomed off to dream land.
I woke up at 3 am. The window was open, it was only September so why not. The daily highs had been around 30, but it was going down to 10 at night. Pretty cold for early September, but if the grand scheme of things, not really all that cold. The breeze came in the window and snaked under my blankets.
It. Was. Cold.
I pulled the blanket over my shoulders up to my ears, scrunched into the pillows, and enjoyed being warm and utterly comfortable. Then I thought about where I might be next week at 3 am. Maybe in a bed, maybe not. Maybe outside, in the dark, in the cold. Real cold. Not 10 degrees cold, try more like .5 cold. Crunching through snow, cold metal in your hands, head lamps.
Standing on top of 900m of ice, yep, going to be colder than a breeze coming through my bedroom window. The breeze, a little finger of doubt, trailing down the back of my neck like an icicle. These sports, these passions, they are a little nuts sometimes right?
Anyone else ever get those icy fingers of doubt?