The friday night marathon.
I promised myself I'd do it before May.
I'm just in time, all my weekends before May good and gone to Marseilles and to incoming Princess preparations.
Last night, tired and sore but painfully happy, I kissed long-missed faces hello, congratulated Georges and Pierrot on their shining girlfriends, donned the familiar-looking Aids Awareness t-shirt, white and red and reminiscent of college fund-raisers, donned my reinforced socks, strapped on my kneepads and wrist armor, and strapped my rollerblades onto aching and shaking feet.
So many faces from New Years, from various dinner parties, surprised to see me there and coming back for a second bise just in case I didn't make it to the pause.
30km/hr they said. It's dangerous to go slower, they said. Guillaume showing up and onlyhis fifth time on rollerblades playing with the sidewalks and spinning in and out of the cracks of Montparnasse.
The man in the caf� where I stopped to pee and grab a necessary extra-alertness coffee commented on my excitement-flushed cheeks.
The television crews were there, and I was hiding behind yet another Helene, eyes glistening as we watched the fire-breathers juggle just the way we did in Lyon.
Their faces also glowing, their eyes focused, fiery.
And then a foghorn blew and we were off and twenty kilometers later I was dizzy and my lungs were cramping but I was at the head of ten thousand people, Guillaume and Marc and Sonja lost somewhere behind me, my ankles doing their thing, my feet suddenly sentient, my knees weak and refusing to lift as high as they had two hours previous and yet still somehow pushig forward, pushing on.
The climb up to the pause at Trocadero, past the carousel where I'd ridden with David, the Eiffel tower a brightly lit monstrosity behind us, was the last of my strength, my breath short, my head spinning, and yet I climbed up to the top to kiss those same faces again, show them I'd done it.
I quit at the pause, a bare half hour left of the marathon, I wasn't sure I could make it standing.
I could have, but playing it safe meant I could come back and do it again.
I made it. 30km/hr and I was passing people, my stride finally fluid, finally comfortable.
I braked with my brake, not in a "T", but that will come with time.
The next goal, if I'm still here in the summer, is to help other people finish, pass the five evaluations for the staff, and be one of the maniacs with the first-aid packs.
It is still somewhat unbelievable that this could be a realistic goal. But it is. Oh how it is.
Seb, last night, dropping me off last at three in the morning, put his hand on my shoulder and announced
"It would be the greatest honour for me to present you with the yellow Staffer t-shirt after being the one to validate your evaluations."
For myself, even if I don't make those evaluations, even if I don't make it in Paris through July, even if I am home in David's arms by then, I will always remember
the rush of accomplishment.
I made it before May.
I made it.