There is a small but realistic chance that the half-marathon may be a no-go. Getting to Hyannis involves a 4 hour bus ride, then spending the night in Boston, then waking up at the crack of dawn to drive another couple of hours to Hyannis before running, driving back to Boston, and taking another bus back here before I'm back at work Monday morning. The calendar is tight; if anything goes wrong, the centre cannot hold. Things fall apart. Maybe Yeats is a tad melodramatic here, but 14+ hours of travel and 8 hours of sleep in 36 hours - for a 2.5 hour race - is a lot.
Also, racing in the snow/rain sucks. Hell, walking in the snain sucks. Sitting on the couch listening to the wind whip past is even a little madcap.
I'll keep you informed.
On I went, out of the wood, passing the man leading without knowing I was going to do so. Flip-flap, flip-flap, jog-trot, jog-trot, curnchslap-crunchslap, across the middle of a broad field again, rhythmically running in my greyhound effortless fashion, knowing I had won the race though it wasn't half over, won it if I wanted it, could go on for ten or fifteen or twenty miles if I had to and drop dead at the finish of it, which would be the same, in the end, as living an honest life like the governor wanted me to. -Alan Sillitoe, "Loneliness of the Long Distance Runner"