Cold

 

 

February 22, 2021

 Greetings from the big chill,

 “To appreciate the beauty of a snowflake it is necessary to stand out in the cold.”  Aristotle

 There is a scientific explanation for why frost forms.  I could describe it here, as I understand it, but it is far less interesting than you might guess, unless I have underestimated your imagination.  Like a lot of other things I know about, it is much more satisfying to experience it.

 Nearly every day this week I have gone running in conditions that prompted looks that were skeptical of my sanity.  Deep snow, wind, ice and temperatures that couldn’t be described without expletives.  Not the worst weather I’ve dealt with but the kind of days that urged indoor hobbies to saner people. 

 This week I ran in air that was nine degrees below zero. There’s something significant about the temperature that is described in negative terms.  It’s not really the absence of warmth as much as it is the presence of cold.  Somewhere up the scale is a point where water freezes. I am told that I am mostly water, so perhaps this is relevant; it crossed my mind this week as I trudged through the snow, and felt the weather etch into my skin.

 My running friends in Canada like to roll their eyes in Celsius scorn.  I might explain the steel required to run in zero degrees, but they will counter with “You mean -18?”  Which really does sound pretty awful.  A tip of my tuk to those who run in Saskatchewan and The Rock and every wild place in between.

 But whatever you call the temperature, it is harsh and unforgiving, and often wrapped inside that intimidating envelope, there is beauty. One day I ran ten miles, and even as winter tried to tear me down, it amazed me.  The trees were turned to lace, the most intricate work I’ve seen.  Even the smallest branch had been fashioned by frost into fine white sculpture.  When the sun finally braved the world, it shone through the frost, an opaque light, barely making the blue sky stand out from the white horizon.  I’m ashamed to try to share it here, knowing that none of my words are worthy. 

 Even with the memory of this fantastic morning, I still found myself dreading the cold, gritting my teeth and grumbling when I saw the digits describing the conditions.

On another day I ran through powder nearly a foot deep, and flakes fell around me, giant wafers of white filling the air.  The snow fought to capture me, held around my ankles, invited me to give up running and instead roll in the downy frozen blanket around me.  I felt as if some living thing was being made and I was somehow becoming part of it.  It took me a mile or so to get over the frustration about how fast or how far I might run, and simply give in to what I’d been given.

 Yesterday I cut into the farmland, a fourteen-mile loop.  I left home in the blue half-light just before dawn, felt the frost seeking out the weak places in the layers of fabric I pulled on.  The thermometer offered a token single digit to tempt me into thinking it was not all that hostile outside. 

 I trudged along the narrow strips of tarmac between white desert, the world etched in blacks and greys and chalk.  When the sun finally appeared, it was the only color, a bead of orange peering amidst a copse of trees to the east.  I said out loud “There you are, my light.”

 I glanced down and realized how comical I must look wearing all these clothes, like a little kid whose mother made him wear his snowsuit before he went sledding.  I was warm, sweating inside after a few miles, but I could feel the frozen world under my shoes, felt the cold radiate through my wool socks and chill the bones in my feet. 

 Out in the wide-open land the wind ran wild, became allies with the cold to create a new, harsher place.  I could feel the cold ache on face, my teeth, seep up the seams in my gloves.  The cold leeched into my legs, pulling at the muscles, filling them with something solid and unforgiving.  I felt the ice form in my eyes, freezing the bit of moisture there.  The frost lined my eyelashes, turned the tears into sculptures.  The cold sought every place it could find, relentlessly seeking.  For a moment I felt like the frost was fighting to freeze me into living art.

 Somewhere in those miles I felt my body tighten and weaken, my stride became choppy, my legs pinged little cramps.  I gritted my teeth, panting under my balaclava, almost angry at the winter and the companions it forced on me.  I wanted to stop, to rest, to find relief from the cold.  But four miles from home is the wrong time to consider that, especially in arctic chill.  I churned on.

 It wasn’t until later, when I was stepping out of a long hot shower, that I realized how fortunate I was.  First because of the incredible landscape I had just been witness to.  And second, because nature had again provided me with a formidable training partner.  Not everyone will appreciate this, but these kinds of challenging miles forge a strength in a runner that is hard to replicate.  Just the act of toughing it out through a difficult place, plants a seed that will pay off later.  The cold in that farmland was not going to allow me to give up, and you can’t argue with it.

 It seems like by now I should know this instinctively, but it turns out I’m never too old to relearn it.  In every challenge there can be an opportunity.  In every inconvenience, an adventure.  You don’t have to be a runner to learn from this.  If you are looking out your window and wishing nature would change to suit your mood, I urge you to put on your parka and go change your mood.  The snow or the cold or rain or the heat or the wind will serve to bring out the best in you, if you allow it.

 Hope this finds you making snow angels,

 David

 

 

 

Copyright © 2021 David Smith