Whatever Dreams May ComePosted: February 9, 2011
I am getting the butterflies again. The more I think about the upcoming weekend, the more I feel like I am not ready. The more flaws I find in my technique, the more doubt creeps up in my head. I have exactly nine days to sort myself and get ready for JenningsGP and I feel slightly overwhelmed. This feeling is nothing new, and intellectually I know it’s all my nerves; emotionally it’s quite a different story. I have a tendency to hype myself up and freak myself out internally, where I’ll be a quivering blob by the time I need to perform, have to fight the urge to vomit, and try desperately hard not to act visibly like the proverbial deer caught in the proverbial headlights and play it all cool, calm, and collected. That’s right, because to Miss Busa this ain’t nothing but a thang! Keep on thinking that…
Mr. Slow has told me over and over again that people cannot tell that I’m a nervous wreck and that I’ll do just fine and I end up having a blast. He’s right on both counts. I have a long track record that proves him to be right; however, that does not change the fact that I have to go through this nerve-wracking process every time. Performance anxiety goes away moments before the green light comes on, so to speak. Anxiety, self-doubt, the nausea and the OMG-I’m-Gonna-Die obligatory internal cry for help are replaced by focused concentration. I am calm. I am entering “the zone”. I am but alone in my task. Everything and everyone around me is forgotten. Just the girl and her goal. And I can do exceptionally well under pressure if I don’t over-think it.
I am now in pre-mission over-thinking mode. I want to go over everything yet again. Or I just don’t. One way stresses me out for two weeks, the other only stresses me out on the last day. I do either, sometimes both.
I woke with a start last night, muscles tensing, synapses misfiring and the last thought on my brain while regaining wakeful cognition was “Oh shit!” I even woke hubby. He asked me what was wrong. I mumbled something along the lines of: “Nothing, just a bad dream.” I remembered what woke me, but didn’t want to voice it. Because saying something out loud gives it power.
I have never dreamed about motorcycling. The only times there were ever motorcycles in my dreams, they were parked somewhere in the background and none of them were mine. Which is curious in itself, since I am known to process in my dreams. Heck, I used to dream solutions to scripting problems in a language based on C++. I don’t code in C++, never have. The solution to the problem was also new to me. I tried it out as soon as I woke up and it worked, just like my dream predicted it would. A problem that had been bugging me for several days was solved in a strange three-second dream. Go figure. I have dreamed in HTML before. Don’t ask me to explain that one. A friend of mine and I talked about this, she’s done it, too. And here I thought I was the Lone Rangerette in Weird World. 🙂
The first time I dream about riding, it’s not a solution or a Eureka! moment to deepen my understanding, it’s a damn crash; a low-side in some turn on some racetrack somewhere I have never been. Maybe it was JenningsGP, I have stared at that track map long enough…
I’m so not ready.
But I’m going anyway.
Why? Because I can and I must.