And so it happens.
I return from racing, and enter a jet-lagged fog of work, spinning, and life. Where am I? I can tell you I am not at the Ritz Doha anymore, even it was as flat as Kansas. I know longer have a personal chef or the turn-down service with warm cookies, but I still have the slippers as a reminder of the luxury. When I slip them on in the morning, I miss my espresso machine, but I will manage.
I am back to the green hills of Marin. The reflectors on the road are no longer suicidal, and the wild camels are replaced by bounding deer. I like the change of scenery every once in awhile, but it is always good to get home. Take a deep breath of relief that no matter how far you travel around the world (halfway to be exact), your home is still the same. Home is with my family, my cat, and my friends.
Life is back. When is the next race? I am ready.