Have I been complaining loudly and annoyingly about how unseasonably warm and dry Colorado has been so far this winter? Yes. Yes, I have. I absolutely love giant snowstorms that shut down a city, and super cold temperatures that drive everyone inside for hot chocolate and home-based entertainments like catching up on TV shows or playing board games. Granted, I approach this preference from the point of view of someone who doesn't shovel her own sidewalk or have to walk around and deliver mail or work next to a frequently-opening door, so I acknowledge my unequal advantage. But dammit, I love snow. When I went to bed last night, I forgot all about the weather forecast I had read during the day, so I was pleasantly surprised first thing this morning when there was a thin blanket of snow on my tiny Park West. As I took my time waking properly over two cups of coffee, I watched it come down in heavy bands through most of the early part of the day. It is so lovely, even in my back yard, where it completely hides how muddy my yard is and how much poo three dogs create (again, I acknowledge and appreciate that it is almost never my turn to clean that up either). We have a long way to go to accumulate enough snowpack to water the state come warm weather, but this was a welcome reminder that snow is still possible.
The main point that I stress about my love of cold weather and snow is that I rarely go out in it for longer than it takes to cross a parking lot between a car and a movie theater or grocery store. So what exactly was I thinking today? When Mr S-P said he was going to head out for a walk, I thought about how much weight I keep gaining (not just because of the holidays, but they didn't help any), and I asked him to wait for me to dress in warm exercise clothing so I could come too. He promised he was only going to go about 2.5 - 3 miles, and I thought I could make it that far well enough. I made it maybe two blocks, down to the stoplight and around the corner, before I realized I had made a horrible mistake. My face was frozen already. I probably should have grabbed a scarf in addition to my long sweatshirt, heavy duty plush hat, and big purple Barney the Dinosaur gloves. Another block and I was asking, "How far are we planning on going?" He named a street two stoplights up, and I thought, okay, I can survive that. As we climbed a steep section to the first stoplight, I found myself arguing in my inner monologue, preventing myself from turning around and heading back alone, wanting to insist that for my first outdoor walk in a while I had already beaten expectations. But I stuck it out. I paused a couple of times when my head spun a little (from the cold, or the recent Botox for migraine, or from forgetting my morning pills, I couldn't say). But I kept going. When we hit that named landmark, rather than reversing course as I thought we were doing, we turned into the neighborhood beside that light. I recognized the route after that, and again questioned my life choices, but I kept walking.
It was somewhere around the end of mile number two when my body started burning enough calories that my face was no longer feeling the cold. I started being able to notice my surroundings instead of focusing on how much I was freezing. I watched Mr S-P's feet, as his heels scuffed the top of the snow lightly before each step on the path near the irrigation ditch that hadn't been shoveled clean. I wondered whether I was doing the same, because I felt like I was picking my feet up and stomping down -- I'm very awkward and clumsy when I walk on ice and snow. I imagine I look funny when I do it, even if I don't really. During one of my "hey, hold on a minute" breaks, we stopped to chatter at a blue jay near us. I tried to get my phone out to take his picture, and got one so-so shot of him, while predicting he would move before I could really capture him. Sure enough, as soon as I zoomed in, he turned his butt to me and hopped away. Thanks, bird.
Once again, this time when we reached our cross-street, Mr S-P didn't turn and head home like I expected. He kept walking, and when asked, he explained that he needed french fries. Now, I'm not a girl who ever (EVER) refuses french fries. But I was so tired by that point. Those last five blocks to the fast-food restaurant made for a miserable slog. I had started feeling the cold again, and I was sore and tired. It took me forever to cover the last two blocks, in slow, plodding, unhappy steps. I'm surprised I didn't start whining like a four year old kid. We sat there for half an hour, long enough to thaw out a little. Just long enough that the final four blocks home were a fresh level of hell. So yeah. I wanted cold. I wanted snow. I asked for this. I just wanted to look at it from my cozy living room, with a cup of hot coffee in my hand. Was that so much to ask?
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