Sunday, November 30, 2014
I have toyed with the idea of moving someplace like Anchorage or Minneapolis, or even Bend, someplace where the skiing is closer and better and the skiing community is more active and vibrant. But I have come to understand that -- and perhaps this is obvious to you -- living close to skiing involves living in very cold temperatures all winter, and as the second Arctic Blast of the fall hits Seattle this weekend, I realize that I don't actually much care for living in very cold temperatures. Playing in the cold, yes, please, but day-to-day living? Not so much; my hair is electric and my sinuses are crackling and my creaky knees squeak in protest at the prospect of jogging on the frozen ground. Even biking to work is full of peril; I'm so bundled up in tights and sweaters and jackets and hats and scarves and mittens and boot covers that I can hardly turn my head to look for cars.
But there's no doubting that it's beautiful -- all crisp and bright and frosty, in a way that we Seattlites are not used to seeing.
So instead of fighting the frigid, I'm enjoying it for its own self and not wishing I were somewhere else. I'm hibernating, taking brisk walks in the neighborhood to admire Christmas decorations, strolling through the farmers market with a cup of hot ginger brew and buying seasonal ales, and making pots of soup to freeze for later this winter, when I hope I'll be too busy skiing to indulge in such time-intensive pleasures.
I can enjoy this Arctic Blast because I know it won't last long. By next weekend, the trail grooming will begin at Stevens and Snoqualmie and it will finally be time to ski. The soft gray rainy deliciousness will be back down here, and the cold snowy stormy deliciousness will be back up there, not really all that far away. Besides, I'm far too introverted to join a ski training group even if there were an abundance of them here!