Weight and balance done, passengers secure, run-up complete. I taxi to the active and line up, announcing my intentions on the CTAF. Brakes applied, I push the throttle to the stop and set the mixture for altitude — 1,250 degrees Fahrenheit on the EGTs. Release the brakes. Hmm, not the same jolt forward 300 hp usually gives me. Takeoff roll is dog slow. But there’s 7,111 feet of pavement. We’re fine. Just don’t go off the edge. It’s a 2,000-foot drop off the end of the runway. Firm right rudder to keep us on centerline. God, this is taking forever. Halfway down the runway and only 58 kias. Could chop the throttle right now, taxi back and go get a coffee. Though patently false, takeoffs sometimes feel like lighting a fuse.