Got two things cooking this weekend — both on Sunday actually — that are intense enough so that whenever I so much as glance at them mentally I’m rewarded with strong shots of adrenaline jetting into my system giving me that combination fight/flee excited/terrified feeling.

The first is the annual Fargo Street Hill Climb, one of the most unique cycling events in the entire world. I tried it for the first time a year ago and failed, then made a second attempt and failed at that, too. I was so intimidated and out-psyched by the sheer steepness of that street that just the simple thought of tackling it again a year later basically makes me break out in a cold sweat.

But that ain’t gonna stop me from trying, and succeeding.

I’ll have to get it done early in the morning because the second event is the funeral for my friend Mark Burton’s father at noon. Attending it isn’t the issue, it’s that Mark in knowing how much his father meant to me has given me the opportunity to say a few words.

It’s an offer I can’t and wouldn’t refuse, but adding a bit to the anxiety he’s said the rabbi presiding over the services has suggested keeping all eulogies within a three-minute window and at present draft, what I have to say runs five. I’ll be attempting to whittle it down tomorrow, but if I can’t slim it down enough to fit the proposed timeframe I’m hoping whatever overage will be indulged seeing as what I have to say is about 25 years overdue.