Image: From Dark Sky app. Post title: Thank you Yvonne for March Madness. And Fresh Hell via Marion Meade
Tag: cold
Walking. Tilting towards Spring.
5:50 a.m.
Dark Sky read out: 40° F. 82% cloud cover.
40° F? Come again? I close app, and re-open.
40° F? This is after two days of high’s in the 50’s. This being Feb 12. Not even mid-Feb.
I sit on the stoop, and lace up my boots.
“Something ineffable has tilted toward spring. There’s a promise of warmth beneath the cold, a releasing of winter’s grip on the land. You can feel it.” (Katrina Kenison)
Sun rises, temperature warms rapidly.
The park begins to fill. Continue reading “Walking. Tilting towards Spring.”
Miracle. All of it. (Take 2)
…and there she sleeps this morning. No mate. Frozen ice surrounds her, and she rests undisturbed. At Peace.
I’m looking out at her. Mr. Canadian Tough-Guy. Wearing T-shirt – – Sweater over T-Shirt – – Hoodie over Sweater – – Northface Down Parka jacket over Hoodie – – Hood up – – Snowpants – – Long johns – – Sweatpants – – Smart Wool Socks – – Sorel Boots – – Smart Wool Gloves.
And I’m still shivering, yearning to get back in the car. A car that’s running, heater blowing.
How all this works?
Beyond my comprehension.
Miracle. All of it.
6:55 a.m. 15° F (- 9° C), feels like 1° F (- 17° C), wind gusts up to 28 mph. Cove Island Park, Stamford, CT.
Post title Inspired by Albert Einstein’s quote: “There are only two ways to live your life. One is as though nothing is a miracle.
Walking. In Sacred Time.
5:15 a.m. Woozy from sleep meds.
Trudge to bathroom. Empty tank. Strip down for morning weigh-in. Pause. Step over to toilet. Spit. I silently thank Anneli (again) for her tip, every ounce counts. Weigh-in outcome? Flat to yesterday. Could be worse.
Forecast, 19° F. But hold on. With wind chill: 4° F, wind gusts up to 39 mph. Oooooooh.
Body yearns for the warmth of the comforter and the bed. Sean Patrick Mulroy: “Here is what I love about the brain: How it remembers. How it sews what soft it can into a blanket for the nights when I am cold...”
301 consecutive days. Like in a row. Cove Island Park morning walk @ daybreak. Gotta keep the streak alive.
I suit up. In this order. Underwear. White cotton t-shirt. Wool socks. Another pair of wool socks over top. Gym shorts over underwear. Fleece lined sweatpants over gym shorts. Fleece lined snow pants over the fleece lined sweatpants. Turtleneck over t-shirt. Sweatshirt with hoodie over Turtleneck. Goose down jacket. Another goose down jacket over top of the first. Tuk pulled tight over the ears. (Pronounced Tuuuuuuuk.) Hoodie overtop of the tuk. Hiking boots. Thinsulate gloves (to work the camera dials). Done! Ready! I pause to catch my breath, I’m overheating. Wow. I’m coming unglued here. This is Darien, CT for God sakes. Not the Vostok Research Station in Antarctica.
I step out the door. Come on. Hit me. Give me your best shot. Continue reading “Walking. In Sacred Time.”
Walking. With Breath-Cloud.
6:00 am.
I’m layered up. From bottom and working up: Wool socks. (2 pair). Long johns. Sweat pants. Snow pants. T-shirt. Long sleeved turtle neck. North Face hoodie. North Face jacket. Tuk, pulled down firmly over the ears. Fur-lined Sorel Boots. Gloves.
And the gear. Air pods. iPhone. Car Keys. Camera bag. Camera(s). Len(s). Memory card. Extra battery. Monopod. Wallet. And a Sling to hold it all.
This ensemble, embarrassing really, for a Canadian, who went to school in Northern Michigan. Man-up has an entirely new convention at middle-age — this not being a trek to the top of the Himalayas.
18° F this morning, wind gusts up to 20 mph. Feels like? 8° F. Pretty Damn Cold.
I step out of the car at Cove Island Park, and a wind gust delivers its wake-up call. Eyes water. 228 consecutive days on this morning walk. But this one feels like a test. Body doesn’t want any part of this…
“Hey Siri. What time does the sun rise today?” Siri (perky): “Good Morning David. The Sun will rise at 7:14 am today.” She remembered my name! (Blush)
45 minutes until Sunrise. 45 minutes. Wow.
I walk.
Not a single soul out. I tromp out with my snow boots on the uncleared path, taking firm, deliberate, heavy steps, careful not to hit black ice.
Triple layers. All the gear. Anxiety over taking a tumble head first, and the ever-present risk of camera flying into a snow bank. God, I’m tired, and I couldn’t have walked 1/2 mile. Continue reading “Walking. With Breath-Cloud.”
Live & Learn 