I braved one of the most loaded training of my life last week. 71 miles according to my tally. I've not seen any bored demons peeking out from the horizon. I believe they must be scared of the cumbias I play for them every morning. Or I must have these currents well predicted? Who knows? All I know is that I'm up on my two feet right mapping out time to the guacharaca sounds of La Furia Urbana.
The course is still strong for my seppuku at the end of winter. I'm enjoying the sea of self in front of me. Putting down the sails when necessary, but never afraid to conversate with Huracan. I've always believed in my ability to navigate wavering waters because I too waver with the funk. My hands aren't wet this time. I calmly await for you in my cabin, mujer marathon.
