And now, winter.
It wasn't that I hated those things before I moved to this county. They just didn't make a top ten list of things I wanted in my universe. Winter was okay, skiing was kind of fun, but in Southeast Alaska it was usually a soggy mess, unsuitable for skiing. I liked little houses, but secretly yearned after a windows-up-to-the-sky, yoga room-having, space for workout-room enabled place. Dogs were fine, but only to borrow. Bacon? Gasp! I had sworn off pork products back in 1990.
As with all resistance, at some point it is good to confront your ideals. Bacon is actually pretty good. Tiny houses are cozy--ours up the canyon is 400 square feet. Dogs are fuzzy wuzzy sweet paws furrballs (Um. Okay, so I love our dogs.) And winter? Summer is my first love. But winter, I have a place in my heart for.
Not the icy, white-knuckled driving kind we've been having up to now. Not the, carp, where are my ice joggers because I'm going to fall and die kind. Not the, Rats, my pipes are frozen because it's -20. I guess I'm still picky about winter. I love the kind that just started this week, the ultra light fluffy powder from the sky. The skiing? It's been superb. I've neglected the gym, running, writing, just about everything, to skiskiskiski.
|Don't worry, little chair! Summer is coming--in about four months.|
Skiing is sort of like running, I tell myself as I slog along the unbroken trail. And the gym! I'm using my triceps, aren't I? The downside of "training for life" instead of training for a specific event is that you feel guilty if you neglect anything. You can't say, I'm focusing on running because I have this, you know, marathon, because you look at your neglected biceps and think, girl, you need to throw some iron around. Or, hmm, there's that bike trainer gathering dust. There's a sense of urgency the older I get--use it or lose it. Keep going, don't give in like others have.
I ski deep into the canyon where the wolves are, where hardly anyone goes, where the campground used to be before the flood. My skis are completely buried in snow. A layer of white coats my eyelashes, my hair, my fleece vest. Maybe I should be in the gym. Maybe I should be putting on the running miles. Then I think: the whole point of training for life is that workouts are fun. They aren't a grim, put-in-your time affair. And so I ski some more.