I’ve been surprised in recent years that I seek out cold. Growing up on the East Coast of the US the winters were 3 months of damp and snow and sleet. Perpetually doused by some form of cold wet water, I was not a fan. Whether I’d spent the hour of afternoon recess running and slipping into and out of snowy puddles, or as a 20-something clearing my old VW bug of heavy, wet snow before I could drive the slushy streets to my job; the outcome for me was the same- soaked mittens, hats and socks that needed to be discarded before anything productive could be accomplished.
Four of the five grade schools I attended had heavy cast-iron radiators. They were always the same, decorative swirls topped each heated rib and they were placed sensibly along the window wall of the classroom where they did their best to combat the heat-loss from large wooden framed windows. After recess we’d troop back to our desks, and at the direction of the teacher, strip off shoes and socks and lay our soaked clothing to steam dry during the afternoon lessons. Wet shoes were placed side-by-side under the radiator forming a colourful row that always reminded me of multi-coloured lights strung across a summer fairground. At the end of the day, we’d sit on the floor replacing our slightly damp socks and stiffening shoes before grabbing hot hats, mittens and coats. It was lovely pulling on a warm coat knowing the heat would last a few minutes on the walk home from school.
I’m not sure exactly when my internal thermostate shifted but by the time I reached 40 years old I was seeking out the cold. More and more I wanted that sharpness of temperature. Don’t get me wrong, I didn’t like being cold, but there is something about that edge of cold that I appreciate more and more. In my late 30’s I was hiking a lot in the Adirondack mountains. (What Westerners call the Adirondack hills). They top out at 5344 ft. with Mt. Marcy being the tallest, but winters theres start in mid-October and you finally see grass and green again in late April. Between Oct and April the piles of snow grow taller and the temperatures dip ever lower, usually hovering around zero farenheit most mornings in the middle months. What surprised me most was that I loved it. I loved the sharp snap of air on my cheek as I stepped outside each morning with my dog. We’d walk up the road to the trailhead and by the time we’d turn to the left to follw the path back through the woods, I’d have unzipped my coat, often tying it round my waist by the arms. Feet clad in warm winter boots, jeans, t-shirt and sweater keeping me just warm enough as we walked. Even when I stripped to the t-shirt, I always kept my hat and mittens on.
I still do my winter walks this way, t-shirted wearing hat and mittens. My hiking friends joke about how fast I peel off layers on a hike. What I’m going for is that sharpness against my skin. The edge of cold that I relax into. Somewhere along the way I’ve learned to relax instead of bunching up against the cold. I shake my arms and legs, stretch my neck from side to side and lower my shoulders again and again until I feel myself relax into the cold, and then, miraculously, it never feels as cold as it did when I was fighting it. I’ve read it has something to do with allowing more oxygene and better bloodflow to the muscles. What I do know is that there is a point where I welcome the cold and it hums along with me rather than battering me.
The winter of the pandamic was my first in Colorado. Winter in this state is a dry deceptive cold. That first winter there was snow and a lot of ice. Each morning I’d tromp to my local coffeeshop, fill my insulated mug with coffee and stand around outside with a few other hearty souls. We’d talk about whatever topic came up, stamping our feet when they grew numb from the frigid concrete and eventually we’d drift off, as the cold permeated our bones. That usually took an hour. It was often 4 – 8 degrees farenheit. One morning one of the guys mentioned that there was another coffeehouse with a firepit and the next day that became our meeting place. Most sat in chairs around the oblong gas-fire, feet resting along the concrete edging. You had to watch that the soles of your shoes didn’t melt. Once again I could unzip my coat, or better still wear just a thick sweater. As long as I was hatted, mitteend and with heavy boots… my t-shirt and sweater were warm enough.
When I think of walking in the cold, I feel an exhilaration. I notice the cold more than I’m affected by it. When I’m walking or hiking and its truly cold, I can strip down to a few layers, so that I feel the chill and somehow that sharpness enlivens me. I welcome it. There is always a point on a long walk or hike, usually on the way back, when I realise that I AM cold. I then have the pleasure of pulling on my coat, wrapping my scarf against my throat and pulling my hat further down to cover my ears. I revel in the feeling of warmth that arrives suddenly and marvel once again that I walked for miles with the cold as a welcome companion. I’m never sure how I do it, and it’s always a delight.
