Every Mile Is Two in Winter – George Herbert

How right Herbert is.

The weather gods have been kind enough (note sarcasm) to dump another foot of snow upon Michigan.  Luckily, this didn’t prevent my father from going on a vacation to Mexico.  He’s probably playing billiards right now, shooting the shit with his friends, enjoying a day that’s supposed to hit a high of 79 degrees.  Lucky bas – I mean, good for Dad. ;)

I weep for sun.  Oh Lord, do I weep for sun.  However, I must qualify that with an "I weep for sun that actually warms up the damn earth."

Of course, all this lamentation leads to nostalgia.  "Remember the time the sun tanned me?  Yeah, that was cool."  "Oh, remember when I dragged through an 85 degree run and nearly fainted when I stumbled into the air conditioning?  Good times, good times."  "And hey!  Remember when the spaces between my toes got sunburned at the beach?  Those were the days."

Ah, memories.  I’m crying pretty hard right now – someone say something funny.

All joking aside, my little brother cheerfully informed me that we are now one-third of the way through winter.  He said this with a sense of hope that I crushed like a delicate petal beneath my runner’s foot when I wailed "There’s still two more months of this?  Oh God, smite me now!"  He tried to point out to me how fast this past month had gone, promising in a naive way that the next two months would go by just as quickly.  "It’s this times two, M.  This times two," I emphasized, gnashing my teeth and ripping my stola to shreds.  I honestly have no clue how I will survive this times two, but I certainly hope that working from home will quell my despair just a bit.  I am nearby windows, at least – I can contemplate the serene fall of the snow or bask in the warmth of the sun percolating through glass.  I could also lie next to the sliding glass door and "warm myself like a walrus" (thanks, dorkus marlokus).  So many pleasant things, really, but it’s all negated by the fact that there’s two more months of this.  And anyone who knows February in Michigan knows it’s hell.

Spring will arrive, with all of its muddy goodness, eager to dirty my running shoes.  Shoes which are still painfully white.  I have not been outside to run in more than a month – I do not have snow spikes for my shoes, and refuse to shell out money for them.  Rather than slip, fall and drastically alter my personality with the ensuing head trauma, I prefer to stick to the treadmill (boring as it may seem).  For now, spring is pipe dream for Michigan.

I could also complain about the fact that the Washtenaw County Road Commission has decided that plowing is unnecessary this season, but I won’t.  I have enough beef with the WCRC outside of this blog, so it’s better not to bring them into this particular discussion.

In conclusion: I hate winter.