It's Just me, V

Here with calendar facing me
Coffee mug gripped like a life preserver, 
Hands warming over the ceramic vessel
looking at this blank slate
Two-Hundred-Eighteen days - full of potential
Full of work, 
Not much time to worry
Just miles to go.

Working on hills, 
Practicing speed
Just one more mile, 
Cadence is key

Calendar is swelling
my cup becoming empty
 - cooling; cold

Sounds of pencil lead rasping on paper
ticking of the clock, 
 - in my head or table?
Slowly taking form:
a pattern 
   a plan
 - my method of attack

A start line is taking shape, 
energy of past is trying to begin
nerves setting in
These scribbles form anticipation
 - generating fuel - motion

Finish line - not yet in sight
 - Two-Hundred-Eighteen days
Journey's end -
Or just a new origination?