One slide of the big yellow shovel at a time. The metal-tipped edge slides smoothly across the artificial wood. Slowly, deliberately, I work my way across the deck. It’s a deck that has hosted some pretty awesome musicians, but all I need for now is for it not to host this heavy snow. One shovelful at a time, My right bicep curls as my left one reaches out, my arms are screaming from the weight of the heavy, wet snow, and I just know that the metal in my left forearm is going to bend and I’ll have to walk around with a crooked arm until I can get it fixed. I hit a raised board on the deck and let out a monstrous groan, just a little, as my left forearm vibrated from the impact. I lift up the next shovelful, willing myself past the nightmare of another broken arm and…Just. Keep. Shoveling.
I don’t know why this hurt so much. I have been preparing for this shoveling experience throughout the summer and all of the fall. My core is strong, and my traps and dents have been training for this damn moment, and I’ll be darned if I can’t rock this 15 by 15-foot deck that covers my septic tank. And the stairs to the front porch. And the back porch. And the entrance to the snake house. And the barn. And…no, I think that’s everything. Until I head up to my mom’s house, it is usually about one to two hours of shoveling, making the lines perfect, and building up the sidewalls in just the right way so that everything looks even and beautiful. I hate crooked shoveling lines.
One to two hours in zone two; that’s a perfect afternoon of paddling. Working my traps and delts, keeping all the muscles in my forearms strong and limber, making sure my wrist is moving about in all different angles. Paddling a canoe might be the exact opposite movement as shoveling, but it is the exact same in so many different ways. First of all, water is heavier than most snowstorms, so when it comes to lifting the shovel full of snow, I’m ready for that. A heavy snow is more like a powerlifting day than a good paddle, but they both have that rotational movement that brachioradialis and the obliques. Such a good twisting muscle, like what gym rats would do in a lunge and reach movement. Or something that would work for moving the rock circle around your fire pit for the twelfth time or chopping wood.
While raking leaves the other day, it occurred to me that while prepping for the snow to fall on my lawn, I was indeed prepping for the snow to fall on my deck. It made me chuckle for a few moments, and then I started writing this column in my head. I could imagine myself shoveling snow as I raked my lines across the one section of my lawn that just gets pummeled with leaves. I have to rake them because the leaf rot makes all kinds of pocked marks in the grass, and it just looks poorly maintained by spring. The grass needs to breathe. Now, I could use my leaf blower, but it doesn’t get all those tiny little leaves that are rotting into the ground. I wouldn’t be getting strong enough to ensure that I can do all my shoveling come winter.
Autumn chores make us stronger for winter chores. With each box I lug out of the barn to make the seasonal transition, I can feel my muscles growing stronger. It also reminds me that maybe we should make these boxes lighter over the next few decades as I wonder if I’ll still be able to pick them up. But then I remember that my canoe weighs 38 pounds. None of these boxes weighs more than that (I hope), so I better just keep practicing carrying this weight so I can keep paddling and be strong enough to shovel when I need it but also strong enough to yank the handlebars of my snowmobile where I want them to go without having to throw my entire body around.
Vermont life feeds Vermont life. I constantly hear my neighbor stacking and chopping all his firewood. He’s in his late seventies and still takes care of all his wood himself. Still doesn’t own a wood splitter. I want to be like that, maintaining my property on my own merits but still having all the leaf and snow blowers hidden away in the back of the barn in case my arm breaks again. You can never be too prepared for a Vermont winter. If the damn thing ever starts.
Merisa is a long-time Killington resident, global real estate advisor, and Coach PomPom. She can be reached at [email protected].
