As I crest the hill at the end of my work commute it is still dark. Though the eastern horizon is tinged with pink, official sunrise is still nearly 45 minutes away. Every day we lose a few more minutes – darkness nibbling away at our daylight at the beginning and end of the day like a mouse at a cracker. In the evening I look for bedtime earlier and earlier, my body naturally shutting down when the sun sets.
I am at my job early, often checking over my email by 7 am. This means I am out early as well, but as we move from October to November the list of things I accomplish in my afternoons shrinks with the daylight. In September I had ample time to get a ride in, shower, clean up the kitchen, plan a few meals, pick up supplies at the grocery store and get started on the cooking. Now I struggle to get a ride of any quality in before dusk officially turns to dark.
And when I look at the almanac I remember that we are a good eight weeks away from the shortest day of the year. It no longer feels like daylight is slipping away, but rather being stolen away.
Every year at this time I am surprised by the growing resentment I feel toward biking.