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My Sorrow, when she’s here with me,
Thinks these dark days of autumn rain
Are beautiful as days can be;
She loves the bare, the withered tree;
She walks the sodden pasture lane.

 – Robert Frost, My November Guest

It may be that autumn will bless us with a few more warm sunny days – days like yesterday and this morning — before the next month falls by with the dizzying pace of life these days. But I doubt it.

I got home last night and it wasn’t just warm, it was humid and sticky. It wasn’t my imagination – the humidex was 28, the outside temperature was 23 at 630p, and if not for the horizon’s relentless early pull on the sun it could have been July again.

But darkness at this time of year seems to come like the flicking of a switch, not summer’s slow fade through the spectrum’s colours until the sky eventually turns deep purple. By 730p it is all but dark, and the path to the barbeque for my evening ritual of grilled chicken is an accident of stubbed toes waiting to happen.

I had no sooner put dinner on last night when Laura called, a nice surprise and earlier than usual for when she is away. Visiting with her family in Cape Breton she was enjoying scallops – the favored seafood takeout place was out of our cherished clams. She was content to rough it and happy to be with her sister and dad.

I settled in inside the family room. The light timers need to be adjusted, so the room was dark, save for the glow of the television; the room was quiet, save for Buck Martinez’s ubiquitous excitement/optimism over the Blue Jays.

I watched an episode of Narcos, a Netflix series on Pablo Escobar that is too violent for Laura’s tastes. A little cartoonish by times, it’s decent fare. Then I was back to the ball game, then the nightly call home to my folks in Windsor Junction, NS, and then a highlight – the season finale of Ray Donovan (another show too violent for my spouse.)

By the time dinner was ready – a small side of tortellini with the chicken, a rare dietary extravagance, but I was feeling rebellious – the light timers were bringing clarity to my surroundings once again. My toes survived the walk between the BBQ and the kitchen. I sat briefly on the patio with a glass of Perrier and lost a staring contest with a small rabbit. A nervous chipmunk bore witness to this pointless duel of wills before darting off into the darkness.

I watched the Blue Jays rally in the 8th and 9th to steal yet another win and flipped through Facebook after I ate. Tired – remember, my days start at 520a and launch directly into 60 minutes of pretty hard training – I cleaned up the kitchen, laid out my work clothes for after the gym and went to bed, falling into a silent sleep.

It may be that autumn will bless us with a few more warm sunny days – days like yesterday and this morning — before the next month falls by with the dizzying pace of life these days.

But I doubt it.

– – –

As I have mentioned here before, Tuesdays and Thursdays are typically training days where half the hour is used for spin. Our trainer – who is no fool, I assure you –noted this morning that attendance seems to fall off on Tuesdays and Thursdays.

No one loves spin. It’s all about controlled toleration for pain, discomfort, and hate. (Okay, that’s a bit harsh. but you get the idea.) As I have said before, I like it because it feels so good to stop.

Anyway, today Richard said he might abandon the Tuesday-Thursday spin schedule in favour of a more random approach. We will still spin twice in five days most weeks. He just won’t tell us when that will be.

I go every day, so it doesn’t matter much to me. I have so many things I need to work on to improve — not just my fitness, but my ability to train (flexibility, range of motion, balance, movement to name a few) —  that it really doesn’t matter what we do.

It’s all a workout to me.