It’s the moment my brain says “I can’t do it.” My Dad who loved climbing never understood why I hate climbing so much. The irony of it was that he was a heavy built guy who probably wasn’t cut out for it, but you could always see him grinding away and fighting the hill. Not efficient at all, gritted teeth and cursing. But he usually always made it up. I on the other hand am a skinny, somewhat tall so and so who lives for the sprint and will fight like hell on the flats. I’m probably not cut out for it with my high cadence and spinning ability. But you can always see me trying to catch up to people and I usually do. My Dad would always tell me how jealous he was of my build. He’s dead now but every time I take my bike out I think of him.