Daemon of nonviolent death,
We’ll speak in person soon, in a quiet place. Just when I started feeling steady, I up and upped the stakes on myself again.
I’ve had some ask what the impetus is to keep coming back to the rail trail for big distances when I could just as soon start them from my front door and go anywhere else. The cold little voice on my shoulder says it counts less, and I giggle because the pain inflicted by monotony and metronome turns you inward in a sharper way than the mountain and the wood.
I cannot hide from you there.
Some cannot survive you there.
I come back to you in rehearsal of the day when you’ve decided I’ve done enough, hoping I can appeal to your mercy to meet me with nothing left unsaid.
I’m certain reckoning doesn’t come after death, but in the centuries-long moments before; it will land like an assault for those whose closets rattle with skeletons not yet dead.
And so,
I draw my sword.
_____
The sound of clanging metal ascends.
I put my body on notice yesterday with a 6.5-hour simmer on the trail. It took minutes to remember why I thrive out there even as I continue to describe my one-day completions of the trail as “worse than Kanza” (now known as Unbound). It’s flat. It’s unglamorous. It’s incredibly painful because your only relief is to stop. It’s virtually impossible to blame anything but you if you fail. It’s so predictable and boring that I have the privilege of settling into this virtually unkillable rhythm, listen to the same new song on loop, and become irrationally offended when it’s interrupted.
I learned in Endogenous Rex that I am most driven when I let everyone else disappear. Getting dropped means innumerable distractions are eliminated. Thanatos came to reap all hope of me finding love for classic competition again and returned me to the holy ground that has weathered everything. The manger where I am allowed to understand my own voice without static.
My sanctum is internal, the ability to observe my own patterns and come back out at will- that observance is why my writing sounds like it does. It’s how I wasn’t molded by the environment I grew up in, but cut out the bullshit in spite of it. The nearer I draw toward the dark, the more clearly I can discern its language.
I am privileged to say what it whispers, and what I show you, are the same.
_____
Practical updates:
I cannot find record of someone riding from Kansas City to the end of the Katy Trail within a day. I was keeping a very conservative goal time because 80 additional miles on top of what I have previously done is major, but now I will target sub-24 hours from state-line to state-line.
I plan to start on Saturday, October 4th, at 6:00 p.m. This is subject to vary if weather becomes an issue.
I will update again when I have a Trackleaders link. If you aren’t familiar, this link will allow you to view my movement/location live for the entire pursuit. This link can be shared with anyone, and all are welcome to intercept in person.
But because I am a woman, let me make this super clear:
I am not polite toward questionable company, and my team will never be far away. If you show up with an ulterior motive, I will know.
I will the machine. 