I can feel my shoulder blades clenching together, harshly forcing my shoulders open. The tightness extends down my spine, stiffening my back to the point where it’s hard to rotate around my lumbar spine. My arms drop from my shoulders, aching pain, and I can feel the tingle all the way down to my fingertips. My neck is stiff, and I can feel the bones grinding against each other as I try my neck circles.
I am cold. Brutally so. The muscles in my back are tighter and stiffer than I ever really thought they could be when not injured. No matter how many times I try to roll my shoulders, I cannot seem to break up the stiffness in my muscles.
It’s a bone-chilling cold, the kind that penetrates way beyond goosebumps. The kind that you think can never leave you, even after a nice, hot shower. My turns become stiff and sloppy, and I am reduced to a Level 5, fumbling around on the trail because I cannot separate my upper and lower bodies. I’m too frozen.
My hips are bright red. I know this without having to take my long johns off. A part of me hopes that this cold will just freeze the white fat off of my body, but I know that’s not the case. But I can feel the fat on my hips solidifying. Fat has a lower water percentage than muscle (30% compared to 70%), but there is no blood or warmth heating up that water, so it hardens. Thankfully, it also shrinks in the cold, so my ski pants fit a little easier.
This weather isn’t that wonderful dry cold they get in Colorado or Utah that creates their champagne powder. This is the moist cold that we get here, the bitter cold. The cold that seeps through every nook and cranny of your jacket, and you can feel the wind on your bare stomach. This cold is invasive, penetrating every inch of your body right through to your bones.
It’s the kind of cold that lures you. You look outside; the sun is radiant, and the sky is a beautiful clear blue. So you think you can make it. You think it’s going to be a gorgeous bluebird day, and so you bundle up in your most expensive outfit. You know, the thickest long johns, the heated vest, socks, and gloves. All exposed skin slathered with Dermatone. The neckie so thick that you cannot move your neck left to right without moving your whole body. You become Ralphie from “A Christmas Story.”
And you ski until you cannot move anymore on snow that squeaks so loudly and doesn’t move because it, too, is freezing in the bitter temps. The snow is freezing. Seems like an oxymoron, but that’s what we get. Frozen snow. The natural snow that looks so deliciously fresh but literally doesn’t move, and you trip over it when you try to slide. The kind that doesn’t want to be skied, but we’re going to do it anyway because that’s where the Fun Signs are.
Two years ago, I was invited to meet up with some high school friends in Puerto Rico for the last week of January. I scoffed at the idea of missing a week of skiing for the beach, especially since I only get to ski for half a year. I didn’t want to waste the week of skiing for an island escape. My body finally warmed up from the inside out, and I could feel all my muscles relax during the coldest month of the year. It feels sacrilegious to say this, but…it was glorious.
To be honest, over the past few years, I have changed my mind about this brutal cold weather. I used to think of myself as badass for surviving it all. I have all the right gear, the good stuff I’ve invested in for conditions like these. But I don’t want to anymore. A friend of mine has a hat that reads— “90 DAY CLUB. Because we don’t ski in the rain.” Well, I absolutely love skiing in the rain; it makes me happy ‘caus I sing and dance while channeling Gene Kelly.
But the cold? The bitter January cold that threatens to take your skin, your ears, your nose, and anything else you leave exposed. I have decided that I no longer need to prove to anyone that I can survive any weather. That there’s no bad skiing, just bad dress. But you know what? I don’t have to ski every day when the temps are below zero. It takes an entire day just to thaw out. I know I can do it, I just don’t want to anymore. I can appreciate the beautiful day by looking out the window with a mug of hot chocolate (and lots of marshmallows) and a wonderful book.
Merisa Sherman is a long-time Killington resident, global real estate advisor, and Coach PomPom. Share your Killington stories at Merisa.Sherman@SothebysRealty.com.
