I could barely climb out of bed this morning, buried under an avalanche of fatigue. I don’t think it’s the sixteen-hour days or the stresses, financial or otherwise. I do, after all, run every morning, hydrate my body well, eat healthy, supplement better than anyone else I know (my mother is a homeopath). I think it may have something to do with the gathering momentum of impressions, ideas, conversations, emails, interviews, complaints…all of it coming down on me with increasing force every day. Or maybe it’s just that I haven’t had a moment to reflect about stuff that really matters to me, or lose myself in a book for an hour or two in a cafe, which is my favourite pasttime (I’ve been stuck on the same page of Jian Ghomeshi’s wonderful memoir, 1982, for over a month now.)

Everything that has been planned at the beginning of this 30-day journey converges around this time, with only eight days to go before opening. The products start trickling in and suppliers request deposits; the second (and, hopefully, final) interviews with potential staff are conducted and decisions are made; people from the community wander in to say “hello” and important bonds are forged; food and beverage is sampled, discussed, added onto the menu. And although you try your best to simplify and stream-line, inevitably it all comes rushing through the same small pipe of time and absorbent capacities.

There is a moment that long-distance runners know well. It is referred to as “hitting the wall”. I’m not a long distance runner, but I think I may have hit it today…

I will find my second wind tomorrow.