One legacy of a childhood with a hair-trigger mother is that I’m not good with sudden changes. If crazy-ass-bitch mother has a headache, here’s the plan. If she’s weirdly quiet, here’s my plan. If she is screaming like a banshee, here’s the plan. If she’s all three in quick succession, here’s how I’ll deal.
I’m a bit of a planner. I’m not rigid in my planning, but I usually have multiple contingency plans. I’m not very spontaneous when it comes to new opportunities popping up at the last minute. I wish I weren’t this way, but the unknown without me having escape options is deeply uncomfortable for me.
So, I’m freaking out a bit because I just got an email from tomorrow’s race organizers saying they’ve made some changes to the route. As in, that mile number 5 hill I’d practiced and made peace with is no longer on the map.
I’m not afraid of things like getting lost or getting a meal I don’t like or things not going as I’d hoped (tip: don’t hope too much for a particular outcome because things rarely go exactly
according to plan). Heck, I like wandering strange cities and finding unplanned joys and curiosities.
But when all my planning misses a possible outcome, I feel left adrift in a scary sea of chaos.
The new route still has a steep incline in the same point, but it’s not split up like it was before. I’m of half a mind to drive out there and check it out. But I’m worried it’ll freak me out more.
Rationally, I know there is no reason for this to be throwing me. But fear isn’t always rational. I’ve been conditioned to go into flight or fight mode when the world shifts. I’ve come a long way in learning to deal with the panic, but it’s not gone.
Ah, hell, I’m just going to drive over there.