What if that is true love. Being able to inherently identify with an object so closely that you begin to feel for it, or more accurately, through it. The way I often sense a single fault in a two thousand meeter sprint as if I were the hull whose gunnel flexed underneath each and every stroke. The way we trust the smooth pavement as it communicates with us seamlessly through 56 centimeter tires. I assume that it varies directly to the feeling of loving another person. But I figure it is a much more arduous task, as I cannot simply deconstruct the human anatomy like the bolts that secure my oarlock and I cannot adjust someones heart like the seat stay of my single speed in order to cope with my own discomfort.