By Steve Hill – Noodle Arm Disc Golf staff
March 5, 2015
Dear Standard Time,
As I gaze out the window at one of the final five o’clock hour sunsets of the many you’ve so gracefully delivered for the past few months, I can’t help but have one burning thought in my head:
Come this Sunday, sweet Standard Time, our matrimony for the year will be no longer, and I must say that I won’t miss you at all.
I don’t want you to feel bad, though. You’ve only been doing what you’ve done for almost 97 years now, so it’s natural that the spark in the relationship isn’t there anymore. I mean, at this point, I just want a couple more hours of daylight and a little less of your penchant for darkness.
What I’m really trying to say is this: It’s not you. It’s me.
Who am I kidding? It’s you. You’re the worst.
Don’t get me wrong, you provide plenty of benefits. I love that it’s easier to enforce my daughter’s bedtime when it’s actually dark outside. Turning on the Christmas lights at 4:30 p.m.? That really gets me in the holiday spirit.
Your affinity for rising early has its advantages, too. It’s refreshing to be awoken by the blazing orb in the sky rather than an alarm clock, and I like getting my morning run in during daylight, in which I have a lower chance of being struck by a vehicle.
But you know when else I can run? In the evening, during Daylight Savings Time.
Oh, Daylight Savings Time. That beautiful, beautiful creation and your sworn nemesis since high school, I’m sure.
You’re surely jealous of DST, right? How could you not be? When it shows up, people flock to the outdoors in a state of rapture, soaking up the extra vitamin D and partaking in their favorite activities for a few more revolutions of the big hand on the clock.
When you show up, people just get an extra hour of sleep. That’s it. One. Not one extra hour of sleep every day, like the extra hours of light DST brings.
(Plus, the whole “fall back” thing isn’t exactly cute when you have children. They don’t have the internal clock thing down, so instead of parents taking advantage of an extra hour of sleep, they’re actually up even earlier.)
And while it’s impressive that you, Standard Time, have been one of the only things to ever unite Congress, I can’t help but think that our elected officials aren’t exactly the best judge of something’s value. I mean, it took them until two months ago to acknowledge that global warming was a thing.
So, it is without much regret that I kindly show you the door for the next few months. It’s time for Daylight Savings. And you know what that means, right?
Disc golf after work.
Those four words will always be enough to make Daylight Savings the prettiest girl at the dance.
For the next eight months, I’ll be out on the course. No more racing to get those last couple holes in and scurrying around the fairway looking for discs that might get lost in the looming specter of night. Heck, I’ll probably welcome our new savior by throwing some extra drives and upshots for good measure. It’s the least I can do to pay tribute to our benevolent bringer of light.
Don’t worry, though. I’ll be sure to think of you one last time when I set my clock back this Saturday night. And I have no doubts that, come November, you’ll come crawling back like you always do.
See you then. I won’t wait up.
A disc golfer
Steve Hill is a Southern California-based disc golfer who doesn’t throw very far. Follow him on Twitter @NoodleArmDG.