Training Log Archive: SwampfoxIn the 1 days ending Dec 17, 2016: |
| « | » |
| » now | ||||
| Sa |
Saturday Dec 17, 2016 #
Note
When I woke up this morning, the sun was up and yet it was still -8F. Pretty cold, and that was the *inside* temperature! Sleeping in for a bit longer felt like a good idea, but that would not be the cowboy way. I threw off the buffalo robes, jumped out of bed, grabbed the nearest guitar and strummed on it vigorously--and realized I was not wearing any clothes and was in full view of anyone walking by the front of the house. Whoops! Plus by then my fingers had become frozen to the strings on the guitar--definitely not the cowboy way. I threw down the guitar in disgust; not too much of the skin on my fingers got ripped off in the process, so at least that was good.
It was time for breakfast, and I stood in the kitchen for a good 2-3 hours trying to decide whether it should be cold oatmeal or hot waffles. Cold oatmeal will actually warm you up quicker when it's really cold inside--counter-intuitive, I know, but run the experiment and see for yourself--and therefore oatmeal offered the wimpy choice. So naturally I steeled myself to make the harder choice and I commenced to make waffles.
I will admit that rather than going outside into the even colder cold and plundering a neighbor's beehive for honey, I took the easy route and just reached into the cabinet and pulled out a container of honey bought from the store. Though there's nothing like a few dozen bee stings to properly bring out the warmth on a cold day, so even using the store bought honey involved taking the harder route. I made a mental note to tweet all this with #storeboughthoney=htfu.
It never got any warmer than 0F, but after all the commotion and what not of the morning, getting out and up top for some skiing wasn't as bad as it could have been. At least there wasn't hardly any wind (that would have quickly made things bad), and even with the new snow from the storm last night, my skis had at least a little bit of glide, rather than it being a pure skis-on-sandpaper type vibe--a fact I attribute to not having touched my skis since last season, and probably there wasn't a vestige of anything even faintly resembling wax on their bottoms.
I skied for a little over an hour and a half, which was enough to get finally get some blood into my fingers and get that tingle of fingers returning to life going. By the time I got home, the sun had set, and there was nothing but an orange-pink glow on the western horizon, an odd color that yet at the same time looked vaguely familiar. As I was going inside, it came to me what it reminded me of: it was the exact color of the president-elect's hair.
It was time for breakfast, and I stood in the kitchen for a good 2-3 hours trying to decide whether it should be cold oatmeal or hot waffles. Cold oatmeal will actually warm you up quicker when it's really cold inside--counter-intuitive, I know, but run the experiment and see for yourself--and therefore oatmeal offered the wimpy choice. So naturally I steeled myself to make the harder choice and I commenced to make waffles.
I will admit that rather than going outside into the even colder cold and plundering a neighbor's beehive for honey, I took the easy route and just reached into the cabinet and pulled out a container of honey bought from the store. Though there's nothing like a few dozen bee stings to properly bring out the warmth on a cold day, so even using the store bought honey involved taking the harder route. I made a mental note to tweet all this with #storeboughthoney=htfu.
It never got any warmer than 0F, but after all the commotion and what not of the morning, getting out and up top for some skiing wasn't as bad as it could have been. At least there wasn't hardly any wind (that would have quickly made things bad), and even with the new snow from the storm last night, my skis had at least a little bit of glide, rather than it being a pure skis-on-sandpaper type vibe--a fact I attribute to not having touched my skis since last season, and probably there wasn't a vestige of anything even faintly resembling wax on their bottoms.
I skied for a little over an hour and a half, which was enough to get finally get some blood into my fingers and get that tingle of fingers returning to life going. By the time I got home, the sun had set, and there was nothing but an orange-pink glow on the western horizon, an odd color that yet at the same time looked vaguely familiar. As I was going inside, it came to me what it reminded me of: it was the exact color of the president-elect's hair.