In the land of ice and snow

Over a year ago, I made the decision I was going to move from Lake Tahoe to Minneapolis. Now that winter is quickly approaching, I’m wondering what the heck I was thinking. Why in the world would I leave my snowboarding heaven for the land of ice and snow?

Maybe I missed the subzero temperatures. Or could it have been the thought 4 months in, it’ll never going to be sunny again? Or was it to prove that I could snowboard on an ice rink? How about being so white I’m reflective? I’m pretty sure it wasn’t any of those reasons.

Don’t get me wrong; I think Minneapolis and Minnesota are great. I use to brag about Minneapolis while living through out California. Minneapolis being one of the greatest hotspots for graphic artists and the boyishly handsome boyfriend of my mine were enough to bring me back. However, I definitely was trying my hardest to block the bitter cold winters far from my thoughts.

Somewhere in the back of my head, I was thinking, “It won’t be that bad. I grew up in it. I’ll be fine.”

I wasn’t listening to the rest of my brain saying, “YOU ARE NUCKING FUTS! -40! It’s been 8 years since you experienced -40!”
When I woke up one chilly October morning to discover snow sticking to the ground, I just wanted to hide. Usually, I’m the one jumping up and down at the first snowfall especially if it comes in early 'cause that means a longer snowboarding season. All I could think was “NOOOOOO! NOT YET! We don’t even have the heat on!”
I kept thinking back to the Halloween blizzard of ’91. I’m not ready for that! I’m not ready! I don’t even have winter boots!
Sure, I can close my eyes and dream I am back in Tahoe. But no matter how much I try and dream away the Minnesota winter, I can’t get away from it. I can only figure out what to do in the land of cold and snow. Like sledding at 2 am in the park down the street from your friend’s house cause there is a few inches of fresh snow. Or waking up just to stay inside and watch movies, drink schnappy hot cocoa, and stare outside as it snows another 6 inches.


I may not have moved back here for the winters but I’m sure somewhere in the middle of putting on that third layer before heading out the door to go shred on the ice or shoveling a path to my car, it will all make sense.

Top Reasons Why Winter in Minnesota Isn't That Bad

+ Yes it does get dark very early but you look better in low lighting anyway.

+ All the winter layers can be an effective way to contain body odor.

+ Dogs carrying barrels of whiskey around their necks finally has real applicable value beyond encouraging alcoholism.

+ Dry, flakey skin is a great conversation starter.

+ A bearded man breaks into your home, leaves gifts, then helps himself to all your food... got to admire that kind of moxie.

+ Car driver's road rage is magically transformed to car driver's road rage... on ice! How enchanting!

+ Unfortunately it is not as easy and sometimes even (dare I say?) impossible to get around on a bike... but don't worry. You'll make massive, uncontrolled weight gain look good.

+ I hear snot pooling on your upper lip is the new black.

+ It's that chance to really dread going outside that you've been waiting for.

+ It's a lovely change of pace... for 5 soul crushing months.

+ You can take in the stale, vaguely rotten smell of your trapped breath that only a balaclava can provide.

+ Swine flu!

A Bulldozer's Finesse

I'm afraid.

Much of what I've written in this blog (and hope to continue writing about) focuses on the changes in mind, body, and spirit that I've undergone the last few years. It hasn't always been easy. It hasn't always been fun. But it has been undeniably good. And even though the line between smug self-glorification and helpful advice can be difficult to pin down, the underlying message-- that anyone can take control of their own life at any time-- is an important one to keep pounding away at.

That being said, I'm still haunted by the fear that writing this you-can-do-it-because-I-did-it blog will invoke such a swell of hubris that fate will have me lose sight of all I've accomplished and I'll find myself fat, alone, and living in a bug-filled apartment that overlooks a Thai Restaurant's garbage chute all over again.

But I digress.

An overwhelming part of the American dieting industry is focused on date-specific success. Lose a full dress size in 48 hours! Lose 10 lbs in 2 easy weeks! Lose 3 inches from your waistline in just a month! But there is little to no mention of what happens when the 48 hours, 2 weeks, or month time allotment has come and gone. What is a person supposed to do after success? How can they maintain fitness goals long term?

... No, really... I'm asking because I don't know. By Thanksgiving last year I had already gained back about 10 of the 15 lbs I shed by commuting. I kept telling myself that after such an active summer I deserved a good rest. I deserved to put off Pilates for yet another week. I deserved to upsize to the bucket of tater tots.

I thought that was how one handles success: with rewards... of inactivity and overeating. As the winter months wore on, I was devastated to realize that I'd completely unraveled the previous summer's benefits. I was weak, flabby, and unmotivated... again.

At the time the solution was clear. Since I'd had such a difficult time limiting rewards, I denied myself everything my instincts told me I deserved. Ha! That would show em! I didn't just fight inactivity, I fought inactivity with a bulldozer's finesse taking out anything and everything that slightly resembled laziness, sloth, or, well, relaxation. While it did work wonders (have you seen my Michelle Obama arms recently?) it also created a large gap between extreme leisure and extreme training where I have absolutely no idea how to handle myself, what I can allow myself, and what I should feel guilty about.

And therein lies the fear: I've achieved my goals but I don't know what to do next. How can I be sure that the one extra thing of string cheese I devoured this afternoon won't lead to one extra Whopper Value Meal which will lead to acne, which will lead to low self-esteem, which will lead to a complete desertion of goals, which will lead me back to the Thai-Restaurant-Garbage-Chute-Apartment?

Yes, I'm being serious. A dash of neurosis is yet another one of my charming character traits.

This winter, whether I like it or not, will be a crash course in balance. I want to rest. I want to relax. I know a certain amount of that is healthy... yet... how do I stop once I've started?

I'd like to offer up a thoughtful analogy about how fitness, dieting, goals in general are more about the process than the product, but I can't think of any I truly believe in when I'm so unsure of myself and what I'm doing.

Ugh. Winter.

The Beginning of the End

Before I started commuting, Fall was my favorite season. The trees burst with vibrant reds and oranges, the smell of sweet potatoes and pumpkin pie drift through the streets, and the air is refreshingly crisp and clean. How could anyone not love a time of year that so blesses the senses?

But I thought that sentimental crap before I understood what Autumn really is: the beginning of the end. A slow countdown that, day by day, takes the carefree fun out of cycling and replaces it with snow drifts, frost bite and the sour smell that happens when sweat freezes and then thaws again.

It isn't impossible to keep commuting through a Minnesota winter but it takes a lot of effort. Thick gloves. Warm coats. Goggles. Balaclava's. Studded tires. Alternate routes. It's tiring just to think about.

So the other morning when the temperature dipped to 45 degrees and I had to spend my normal-sipping-coffee-time on digging out my warm leggings I wasn't in a very good mood. When I had to locate long (matching) socks I started mumbling curses. By the time I found my fat jeans-- the only pair that fits over all that warm layering I was beyond words. The effort had officially begun. Soon I'd be waking up an hour earlier and struggling to plow my bike through snow drifts just so I wouldn't have to face swine flu infested public transit.

As I put on the first leg a tiny spider fell out and ran across the carpet.

Perfect. I hate spiders. There is nothing more disgusting... more terrifying than a close encounter with a spider and this one was brought to me exclusively by fall. Nature's gateway drug to winter. Gross, gross, gross. I pulled on the other leg. There was a small white patch near my knee. Weird. I didn't remember a patch being there last year.

Two baby spiders fell out of it.

It wasn't a patch. It was a pouch.

And if that wasn't bad enough, I could clearly make out something moving inside of it. Something big.

A large leg pushed through the side of it. Then another.

No amount of Fall Foliage on the way to work could erase the image from my mind. Or the image of me screaming while jumping up and down trying desperately to kill any other creature that made their summertime home there.

Fall blesses the senses my ass. How long until summer again?

“Be a dumbsaint! A Yeatsian visionary. Take control and let loose. Discard pretense. Make speakable the unspeakable. Throw away the misthought that you have nothing to say. Defy fear. Like Proust unlock time and sense. Find your Madeleine. Or like Alice, eat the mushroom. If you tell a true story, you cannot be wrong. Lose inhibition, grammatical, syntactical, and all other straightjackets. Make love to your life. Experience it, the radiant orgasmic highest high/ lowest low of consciousness.”

-Jack Kerouac, You’re a Genius All the Time