Imagine the room.
Tasteful sterility. Soft and yet stark. Homey and yet far from home.
This is the hotel room, the one you selected. It was one among hundreds, perhaps thousands, of options and yet here you are, standing at the threshold, bag draped over your shoulder, gazing into the circumstances of your evening.
It is a roughly 20x20-foot box and for tonight it’s your domain. A place of respite. A spot to gather yourself. An oasis of calm before the organized chaos that awaits you in the morning.
You step through and the door shuts behind you.
And then you’re alone. Standing in the stillness with only your thoughts of the looming effort. Maybe you watch television. Or maybe you lay out your kit, whatever that might be—warmups, shorts, singlets, bibshorts, racing suit, various portable foodstuffs, shoes and race numbers and pins and all the various sundries that will take you through the next morning’s tribulations.
You lay it all out now because you know you’ll b…
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