I am so fucked for Placid.
Lake Placid was about a hundred days away, which is plenty of time if the work has been steady and not much time at all if biking and running are still things you keep saying you might eventually get yourself to do.
The timing was not ideal. I had just gone full-time at Reonomy. The first weeks were full of hiring, product priorities, office logistics, and all the little decisions an early team needs somebody to make. Moving had supplied its own pile of errands. Fios had already eaten a day. Training had to fight for whatever was left.
I sent the line about Placid to a friend while we were trying to set up a recurring hang. We had both gotten busy enough that seeing each other required an actual system. Every three weeks came up. I pushed for twice a month. I would rather see him more than less.
We settled on planned lunches as a starting point. Put something on the calendar, pick a place, and change it when we felt like it. The point was not the restaurant. The point was to stop assuming that friendship would maintain itself somewhere between work and training.
That conversation had the whole situation in it. I missed talking shop with my friend. I missed riding and running enough to feel remotely prepared. I was thrilled by the new job and already letting it occupy every open corner.
There was no dramatic fix that Sunday. I did not suddenly discover another ten hours in the week. I made lunch plans and admitted exactly where the training stood.
Placid was coming either way. At least the calendar now had one recurring thing on it that was not a meeting or a workout I was behind on.