Welcome to the inaugural
        Overcommitment Olympics—
        audience of one,

        competitor: me,
        coach: Ava,
        event schedule: crazy enough to impress my hummingbirds.

First event:
      New Hobbies, Who Dis?
      Saturday morning welding session,
      woodturning by lunch,

      afternoon fencing lessons booked online from a guy named Lars.

Second event:
       Let Me Just Build a Spaceship Real Quick—
       aerospace engineering tutorials on YouTube,

       duct tape and ambition fueling garage-based rocketry.

Intermission:
      Band Practice,
      Then Disc Golf,
      Then Crying.

      Ava leads vocals,
      emotional percussion by me,
      songs mostly about counting days, waiting,

      and how the heart feels—
      eight days from Atlanta.

Prime Time event:
      Distraction Level: Expert.
      Competitive snack-making, (Ava’s secret recipe for procrastination brownies)
      Mongolian throat singing. (self-taught (Coal would approve — and wanna join in))
      rearranging furniture at 2 AM. (clearly that bookshelf always belonged in the kitchen)

Sunday Finals:
       More disc golf,
       Weekend Warriors, (of the Heart)
       battling boredom, (and Mario Kart)
       quiet restlessness,
       each silent hour a round fought—

       stacking tasks like trophies to outpace missing you.

In the opposite corner,
   Mari & Coal,
   deep in recovery mode,
   gracefully resting…

   while I break personal records in not sitting still.

Gold medal in Too Much.

Silver in Almost Distracted.

Bronze in Counting Hours.

But really—
    the only event I’m training for
    is wheels-up to ATL,
         eight days out,
           muscles sore,
            heart ready,
          overcommitted,
          underprepared,

    perfectly on schedule.