Home Sweet Home

Nothing is worse at the end of a long trip than getting on a plane to travel back home. Teleporting or clicking the ruby slippers three times has always been a fantasy. It’s 2010 for goodness sake, why can’t we do this yet? As I snake through the line with my luggage bogging me down, I hope the check in attendant won’t weigh my bike case and I optimistically imagine the extra fee might be waived this time. All the while, I am eagerly anticipating my return home.

It is true; I have developed wanderlust from my years of traveling to races and going away for training trips. No matter where I visit, though, I am always excited to return home to Boulder. Mark rarely comes along for the long training jaunts, and no amount of phone calls replace actual time together. He has been incredibly supportive of my endeavors even though he hates puttering around the empty house when I am gone. Although, once he feels my freezing hands and I wake him up way too early with my unpacking, he probably wonders what exactly he missed about me.

Here are some other things I love coming home to:

• There is nothing like sleeping in your own bed with your favorite pillow. I have raved about the Westin’s Heavenly bed, which my sister has re-created in her guest room, but it does not compare to my less than Heavenly bed with my Tempur-Pedic pillow.  

• Waking up to the glorious mountain view is unsurpassed.

• My friends. We have laughs and poke fun of each other. We support one another in times of need. We train together.

• The gym. Yes, there are complaints. The pool is too crowded, the locker rooms too small, the equipment outdated. Despite the shortcomings I love the familiarity of the weight room, the conviviality of the members and staff, and the swim coaches are the best anywhere.

• The regular routine. I am a creature of habit and most of my weeks shape up the same way. When I travel, I have to adapt to my new surroundings, which can be liberating but requires patience (which I don’t have) and ingenuity.

• No commuting. Boulder is a special place where the five mile trek across town is considered inconvenient; residents only leave the Boulder bubble under duress. I log more miles per year on my bike than on my car. Sitting in traffic means you’ve sat through a traffic light twice and freeway driving is an infrequent occurrence. Less time in the car means more time training!

There it is. Traveling is exhilarating, but it also makes you appreciate home.