Life bliss point

It’s rare, at least in my experience, for the various aspects of one’s life and the avenues in which he works to come together to a nearly perfect point. A couple weeks ago, I reached this life bliss point, where any additional input or stimulation would take me away from the emotional high I was riding.

It was 6am, and I hadn’t actually gone to bed yet, after spending the entire night (morning?) dancing at my brother’s wedding in Spain. I had just eaten loads of delicious ham, salmon, lobster, quail egg, filet mignon, salmorejo, sushi, and other fantastic food. Gluttony? Maybe. I had just drunk loads of white wine, red wine, whiskeys and Coke, Mahou and cava. Tipsy? A little. But mind you, both the eating and drinking had begun 12 hours ago.

There I stood, in this gorgeous courtyard on farmland north of Madrid; my whole family had turned out to witness my brother marry the love of his life; my sister was in Europe for the first time in her life because of it; the week prior I had raced two of the best races of my life at Track Nationals, rejuvenating my thirst for winter training and reminding me of my potential in this whole bike racing business; I had just been offered a job in Colorado, where I’d wanted to move for the better part of three years; and last, but surely not least, I had just enjoyed the company of an incredibly beautiful Spanish girl for the majority of the wedding, white-boy-dancing be damned.

The immediate past had gone just right, the present was going just right, and the future — in Colorado — and all it held, was just right.

Welcome to Mail Backwards, the highest-trafficked site on the Internet. Learn all about what happens to a 28-year-old dude when he moves from Chicago to Colorado, rides his bike a lot, maybe gets into too many winter sports that require just as much gear as cycling does, and becomes a reclusive, beard-growing, fly-fishing, flannel-wearing mountain man.

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