Twenty-three years of March 12ths, and this date can't decide what it wants to be when it grows up.
Some years it's a battleground. In 2003, I'm running through a snowpocalypse while my bank accounts freeze faster than my extremities, contemplating existence between financial disasters and job-induced headaches. Flash forward to 2004, and work stress delivers daily headaches like clockwork, with a stop work order looming. By 2014, we're returning from racing to find an eviction notice waiting like an unwelcome houseguest.
Other years, this date whispers of possibility. There's 2005's solo summit attempt after last week's 12-mile marathon to nowhere. 2009 finds me contemplating Montana's upper 30s like they're tropical. 2015 discovers winter's vanished and spring fever's arrived uninvited but welcome.
Then there are the beautifully mundane victories. Adding calendars to the shop in 2004. Celebrating friendship and mountain biking in 2010. Being rescued by Action Wipes after a marathon Monday in 2012. Rifling through Big Hole photos while procrastinating core work in 2013. Striking a blow against the 40-hour work week in 2016.
The recent years brought new voices. Mr. Bear took over authoring duties and described forests in majestic splendor in 2023. Then 2024 arrived with Cuddles, pulling me out of darkness with a walk and strength session.
Twenty-three March 12ths. Sometimes chaos, sometimes clarity, usually somewhere between chaos and a really good workout. The date keeps showing up, and apparently, so do I.