Blogatron

I'm Joining the Geese and the Rich People (Part 1)

Did you know that there are people who like winter? No, I am not kidding. Sure, some of them might be kind of odd, but still, they seem fairly functional despite this bizarre misconception. To each his own (form of horrible torture of choice), I suppose.

I�ll admit my bias against the season may be stronger than is reasonable, because there is just not a single wintertime activity that I enjoy. I have no nostalgia whatsoever for the snowy days of my youth; the memories that make some people all misty-eyed just bring on the PTSD for me. Winter sports? Not my thing, so much.

I tried to learn to ice skate, I really really did. It seemed like such fun in the movies � gliding around, smiling serenely, wearing a fetching jacket and a little fur hat, blah blah blah. Apparently, however, my ankles had other ideas. Like allowing me to pigeon walk out onto the ice, push shakily off, say "hey, maybe this will work �" and then collapsing without so much as a by-your-leave, sending me with a wobble, a teeter and a splat onto the ice. Again and again and again. My ankles had no interest in skating, or cute jackets, or serenity. My ankles were, it seemed, eager to have me sit on the sidelines and get hypothermia, while all my friends did the whip and couples skating and learned jumps and twirls and figure eights, the bastards.

Do you have fond recollections of sledding as a child? Mmmm. I, too, remember that horrifying deathsport. What�s that you say? �Just a harmless childhood pastime?� Ha! Maybe for you. I, on the other hand, seem to have a unique talent for aiming a Flying Disc directly at trees, rocks and other sledders, despite feeling as though I have no control over the beastly thing at all. Let�s just say that I didn�t get the nickname �CrashTestTron� for nothing. And even if you don�t end up in the emergency room, sledding requires far too much work. All that walking up the hill in between collisions! What the hell kind of leisure activity is that?

In eighth grade, we �got� to go downhill skiing on a field trip. Free lessons were provided as part of our exciting adventure. Our kindly instructor presented skiing to me as follows: �Okay, kid, just push off with your left ski�now bend your knees a little�lean forward! Wait, no, backward a little. No, not that far�crap, not again�� And so it went, swoosh, swoosh, wobble, teeter, splat, for two solid hours. As I flailed back onto my feet and cleaned the packed snow from the inside of my glasses for the four thousandth time, I heard, �That�s it. Kid, you�re on your own. If you want my advice, stick to the little hills.�

I really should have known all along, however, that winter fun was not for me. The omens were there as early as kindergarten, when my class �got� to go cross-country skiing. To prepare for the big event, my mom dressed me in sensibly warm long underwear, snow pants, and parka. And of course, to protect my delicate feet, thick wooly socks. I did not like the socks; they were itchy. I would much prefer my thin, brightly colored polyester socks. Cleverly, I changed them when my mom wasn�t looking.

After a few hours of sluice, sluice, wobble, teeter, splat, I started to cry because my feet hurt. Hey kids! Can you say �mild frostbite?�

Thank you for joining me for �at least in other seasons, sucking at sports does not involve so much coldness and wetness.� Please return tomorrow, when we cover more reasons why winter is a bad idea that should be reconsidered.

Posted by hilatron at January 31, 2003 12:21 AM