Today marks our annual pilgrimage to chop down the tree at Crystal Spring Christmas Tree Farm, which last year was selected as the official provider of the holiday tree at the White House. We've been heading up the mountain in Carbon County for a few years, despite the infusion of cars from New York and New Jersey where, I guess, they don't grow fir trees.
But of course, the trickiest part of this rite involves not the hike with two young girls, nor the impasse that I will most likely make as I debate whether the 9-foot fraser fir before me is the one to be sacrificed. No, the hairiest decision will be where to move my bike that is currently perched upon my trainer.
Can it stay in the library with the tree, as it did last year?
No. I concede that I was selfish, although we did move it out of sight on Christmas Eve.
Can I mount it in the cellar, with its dust and cobwebs?
No. My allergies will revolt.
Can I place it in the master bedroom, in front of the 40-inch television and right next to the bed?
Well. Sometimes we all need to make sacrifices.
I'm no Martha Stewart, so there is shall sit, totally ruining the feng shui that I've attempted to master.
Spatial complexities aside, I look forward to riding in a new spot, particularly as we buckle down for weather that simply is not suitable for my liking, particularly when I'm moving at 17 miles per hour. Instead, I am actually anticipating the holidays as a way to reboot my current state of fitness, which has been slowed down as I recovered from my Ironman and began a rebuilding program. Hopefully there are other aspects of my life that I can rebuild as well.
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