Once in New Mexico John and I were driving to the top of the Sandia mountains. It was a steep incline, and a hot day. I had packed a picnic for my family and we were enjoying the vista as the car did the dirty work. Early on in the trip I noticed a man on a bicycle, steadily pumping his steely legs, head bowed to the grueling task of ascending a 10,000 foot peak on his own adrenaline. I wondered what would motivate him to take on such a searing ride, when a car full of gas would get him there just as well.

We arrived at the crest, unpacked the watermelon and sandwiches, and munched lunch, while sitting on a log cabin quilt as we took in the panoramic view. The kids wrestled on the grass, arguing about who won while John and I chatted. It was a pleasant place to spend an afternoon.
 
Then as we were cleaning up I watched as the bicyclist came up the road, triumphantly finishing the last few yards of a three hour trek. He flopped from the bike, took a long gulp from his water bottle, spilling it on his sweaty face, stretched out his weary legs on the cool lawn, and laughed up at the sky. He took out an energy bar, ripped open the package and whooped. 
He looked exhausted, but exuberant.
In fact, and this is hard to admit, I had the annoying feeling that he was enjoying the mountain more than I was... perhaps even more than I could.
 
This was of course ridiculous. The mountain was as beautiful to my eyes as it was to his. The sky was just as blue, the clouds no less fluffy.
 
But still...
 
Marriage is a steep climb. In my first weeks and months of matrimony I thought I had arrived at the top. The view was spectacular, and we were there together. I felt as if I had been heliported to Mount Bliss, and in a way, I had. God gives us a visit... that glorious time at the peak, but then He plunks you down at the foot of the mountain and offers you a well oiled bicycle.
 
The ride is long. Gravity tugs at your ankles, and the air gets thinner. You cannot even see past the trees, so you just keep pedaling. Hours turn into years, seasons slide into decades. 
 
But then the world opens up and you can see everywhere. You are wildly alive, and you have performed harder than you ever thought you could. Looking around you, the distance you have come is astonishing even to you, and you were there each blistering mile.
 
I think that lone rider did feel more joy at the peak than I did.
And I bet the ride down was better too.