December is an aperture from the old year to the new. Up here in the temperate northern hemisphere, the short, desolate days bring cocooning weather, storms of all variety. Rain, wind, snow, dark, cold … if the earth were ever to get stuck on its axis so we pointed away from the sun all the time, no amount of Christmas lights and cheer could isolate the gloom that clouds our lives. The distractions we throw up pile higher each year. More bowl games, more lights, more secret Santas, more parties, more presents. I desperately want some grandchildren running around, getting all excited seeing the tree slowly take shape, first the lights, then the shiny bulbs, and finally the presents piling up below.
Last year, we had actual snow, a one time event I fear, to distract us as we dove into the dark hours surrounding the solstice. This year, with all the extra time I’ve granted myself by working only half time, and dropping my 2 + hours a day of triathlon training to under 1, I’ve got all the presents bought, the house and tree decorated, work parties attended, just a few small details left until the onslaught of family begins.
We’ll have six additional people populating the house around the holiday. Turns out our six bedroom house is a mirage. Cheryl and I have each appropriated one bedroom for our work space. We live in another, and Annie still has dibs on her space. So only two extra bedrooms for two couples, and McKenzie, back in her American home on her way from China to her second semester at the Univ. of Denver. I hope we make it all work.
In the meantime, I’ve been fighting the cold. Not a cold, which would inhabit just my head, but the pervasive cold which freezes pipes, dries the air, and turns our swamp into a skating pond. On Thursday, I tried a little mountain biking up Green Mountain. The trail, which usually collects some mud holes and small stream runoff, had gathered those odd frozen clods which pop up when the ground gets freeze dried, along with a few glazed slopes, solid frictionless ice covering the rocky, stumpy surface.
I was almost comfortable going up (the top is at 1565’ above sea level), but coming down, I found that, no matter what, I was going to be cold, and the faster I went, the colder I would get. So I took the most direct route, a straight shot down a 6-12% grade, brakes on all the way, shivering until the flats, and shivering even more there, as my speed, and the wind chill, went up.
Same thing happened on Wednesday and Saturday, when I continued my ramp up to real running again. Now three weeks into the post season, I can feel my legs getting ready for some real work, and without the rain, tried to fit my gear as best I could to the 28 F weather. Thin gloves, thin skull cap, nylon faced pants, two shirts and a cycling jacket seemed to do the trick, as I got 45 minutes Wed, and then an hour today. The faster I ran, the more I sweated, the more breeze I encountered, and the colder I got. But the indoor treadmill is to be avoided whenever possible, so no rain means outdoor runs, and winter runs means dismal shady routes, even at high noon.
Cycling outdoors is another matter. Commuting to work, when speed is not an issue, can be tolerable (“there’s no such thing as bad weather, just bad clothing.”) But getting in a group road ride at 18-22 mph in sub-freezing temps is just asking for trouble. For one thing, at those speeds, on the side of the road, a little bit of black ice can wipe out the whole pack. For another, the whole wind chill thing becomes really serious. Not only do I not have snow tires for my bike, I also don’t have winter riding gear. Or maybe it just doesn’t exist. The concepts of “lightweight”, “windproof”, “breathable”, and “heat-retentive” are somewhat mutually exclusive. If I;m going to be miserable, I’d rather be skiing.
Which is just what we’ll do after the first of the year. Cody, Annie, and I will take a road trip to Snowmass, and be joined by Cheryl, who has the wisdom to be flying out right after us. Maybe one of my kids will finally be able to out-ski me! Cody needs to earn the car I partially bought for him two years ago, and Annie needs to lay down her marker for one in the future. My standing offer has been, “If/when you can ski better than me, I’ll buy you a car.” Snowboarding counts as skiing, and the judge of being “better” is left to the child. No one has claimed that feat yet, but they both are close. Cody is faster, but not as elegant; Annie, on her snowboard is almost as graceful, but not yet as courageous or fast. And neither will take the lead through the trees. I’d hate to just run out of gas at, say, age 70, still being “better” then they are. Thankfully, the most competitive of the three, Shaine, is less interested in showing my up athletically, but seems bent on bettering my business success.