affect (af·fect) (af´ekt) the external expression of emotion attached to ideas or mental representations of objects
Some people use a calender to tell them summer is officially over. Last week, marked the fall equinox. To many, that marked the fall. To me, days on the calendar are just a guideline. My realization came with a simple task that is always hard to complete.
My father ushers in fall when he covers the pool. It is a sad day when you realize that you can’t take a quick dip whenever you want. To me, that is the first major sign that fall is approaching. My parents live 50 miles away. Just the perfect distance for a summer ride. My wife heads out with the kids in tow and my bathing suit packed in the car. I get to ride with visions of cool water acting as a carrot out in front of me. When the pool is closed, the carrot is gone.
But I’m not ready to give up on summer as quickly as my father. He closed the pool two weeks ago. I waited until last night to finally succumb to the inevitable. Reluctantly, I went to the parts bin and removed this.
What does this small skewer affect my emotions so much? The act of removing the skewer from my bike and inserting this one is an admission that it is time for the trainer.
The time when I could ride in the morning before leaving for work has long past. I know it but could not bring myself to pull out the trainer and begin the tedium of riding indoors. After watching the miles going down and the scale going up, I knew it had to be done. So, I reluctantly performed this yearly ritual.