I was snuggled up at the kitchen table in Lake Placid that Sunday night three weeks ago, finally comfy in warm, dry clothes after spending more than 14 hours in the torrential rain watching Ironman.
Some wine was poured.
A glass of it ended up all over my laptop.
While the previous three glasses of vino numbed the pain--and the reality of what I had lost--until the following morning, I awoke to a personal endurance event of a very different nature. As a house full of triathletes said their goodbyes and we all went our separate ways, I was headed to the remote patch of Northeastern Pennsylvania that I am temporarily calling home, without any immediate hope of Internet access, without a connection to the world, my friends, or my work.
I was terrified.
On the five hour ride home, I began taking a mental inventory of the writing, photos, and documents that may be lost forever. I wondered how I'd go about drumming up some needed freelance projects until my new computer arrived. Afterall, I now had a laptop to pay for. What if the assignment of a lifetime was sitting in my inbox, waiting for a response? How would I access my marathon training schedule? Would my friends forget about me if I stopped returning all those Facebook messages?!
I had a few weeks to figure all of this out. And, as is always the case, the experience taught me oh-so-much more.