For the last time winter: it’s not me, it’s you
The key to any relationship is clear communication, which is why I would like to take this opportunity to say, “Hey, winter, I’m just not that into you anymore. Sure, we’ve had some laughs, like that time I slipped on the ice in a parking lot and managed to land in the one slushy puddle. Okay, maybe you were the only one laughing. But any chance to rekindle the magic with, say, a surprise snow day is long gone. Besides, I really think it’s time I started seeing other seasons.”
The problem, though, is winter does what ever it likes for as long as it wants despite my best efforts to break up. It’ll try to sweet talk me with Daylight Saving Time on the theory that later sunsets will soften me up, but all it does is give me more light to be able to see how sick I am of this weather. Winter will even tease me with a few unseasonably warm sunny days and a square on my calendar that says “First Day of Spring.” But there are still approximately 57 days left in March and, let’s face it, April is a total crapshoot. So it’s safe to say that winter probably isn’t going anywhere soon.
There’s a school of thought that says winter would be enjoyable if you participate in a winter sport. I don’t know where this school is or why my parents didn’t fork over big money to get me into a school of thought that says winter is enjoyable when you live in the South. Or why they didn’t at least bribe an athletic director to say that I ski or skate without me actually having to leave the comfort of my climate-controlled home.
People who enjoy outdoor activities apparently look forward to the nine months of winter. This puts a lot of pressure on those of us whose favorite winter sport is sitting by the fire with a good book and a glass of wine. But my preference for the great indoors over engaging in more traditional cold weather pastimes is not for a lack of trying.
I took downhill skiing lessons when I was 10 years old and quickly learned it was an activity that involved three things I don’t like: cold, heights, and going fast. In high school, I tried downhill skiing again; this time to impress a guy. (Note to younger self: if you want to do something that impresses other people, it’s best to stick to things you excel at, like napping or eating cookies.) It turned out I didn’t like skiing any better than I did in elementary school. The best thing about it was après ski, which is a fancy French term for “thank God that’s over with, now please excuse me while I try to dislodge a giant snow wedgie from my pants.” Needless to say, things didn’t work out with that guy, but there are no hard feelings and I wish him and his ski-loving wife many happy black diamond anniversaries.
I also tried cross-country skiing, and even went so far as joining my high school team (Official Team Motto: We will take absolutely anyone. Sigh, yes, even you) and I’m pretty sure I still have the klister ski wax stuck in my hair to prove it. I did this on the theory that skiing on a more horizontal surface would take care of two of the three things I didn’t like about downhill skiing (let’s face it — I never go fast without assistance from gravity). But I decided to give it up after the coach refused to follow my suggestion to hold all practices and meets inside.
I probably could have been a decent skater if the need to stay upright were not an integral part of the sport. For the safety of myself and others (hereinafter referred to as the plaintiffs), I was asked to hang up my skates permanently. By the time I discovered snowshoeing I was old enough to realize I didn’t care if other people thought I was missing something by preferring to enjoy winter from the inside looking out.
And so, winter, we’re through. Please just accept it and leave quietly. And completely. None of this letting me think you left and then popping back in with some flimsy excuse like you forgot your car keys. It’s over. I guess what I’m trying to say, winter, is, it’s not me, it’s you.