Sitting in a meeting on Tuesday that was doomed (destined?) to run late, I came to the stark realization that lining up for the infamous Corsa Brutale race--arguably the toughest course of our Tuesday Night series--wasn't going to happen. This didn't put me in the best of moods, but then again in my reality things like this happen.
In any case, arriving home just seconds before others were about to start their race, my wife asked whether I was planning to go ride on my own. A good idea.
A really good idea.
I wasn't supposed to race tonight. No, I was supposed to experience an almost perfect evening on the mountain bike trails that start at the end of my road. I was supposed to spend time on a ribbon of singletrack, surrounded by balsam flowers in full bloom, with the fading sunlight gently filtering through the pine trees. I was supposed to find my flow on the bike, to work hard on my own, and to enjoy the biggest of the little things in life.
I had really looked forward to the race. But missing it might have been one of the best things that happened to me today.
Nothing is unfortunate.