Well kids, I'm finally back in Montreal after an extended and gluttonous sojourn back in my hometown, and just as I'd expected, it is actually winter here. None of this "eight degrees and raining" shit, I'm talking lows of my minus 27, and that doesn't include the wind chill! It is really and truly the Great White North, and I am coming to realize that survival in this type of weather is an adventure all on its own.
I knew full well what I was getting myself into when I packed up my car and drove across this great land last summer, but nonetheless, this kind of cold takes some getting used to. While I've spent a few wintery weeks in Saskatoon and Ottawa, it doesn't change the fact that where I come from minus three is reason enough to stay home until conditions improve. This province of Frenchies has developed a thicker skin — I'm not sure if the kids here have even heard of a Snow Day. They just pack on another layer of long Johns and buck up.
I wasn't weary when I stepped off the plane last Monday, however, I was excited at the prospect of a "real" winter this year — although I was a tiny bit frightened when the pilot announced that the temperature in Montreal that day was a balmy minus 20. Instead of dreading the days of hat hair and clammy mitten hands, I started dreaming about the awesome winter sports I never had the chance to get good at: in Vancouver, if you want to ski/skate/snowboard/snowshoe you have to fork over your hard earned cash just to access a snowy landscape. Here, all you need is the equipment, Mother Nature provides the rest.
Upon the advisory of my friends I decided to start small and cheap and invested in my very first pair of used ice skates. As a child I avoided figure skates like the plague, firmly remembering tripping over their pointy picks like Bambi's uncoordinated cousin. I would endure the humiliation of lining up in front of the "Men's" counter at the local indoor rink with all the little boys in my class so that I could rent a pair of hockey skates instead of their prickly counterparts. And besides, I always enjoyed the fact that my foot size is smaller in guy world (although it never made sense that men would want any part of them to be represented by a smaller number).
The local used sporting goods store had a limited supply at this point in the year and there were only figure skates in my size, but in the name of new adventures (and their 15-day return policy), I picked up a tidy-looking pair of snow-white figure skates and headed down to the well-frozen canal 15 minutes away from my apartment.
On this particular afternoon it was a nasty negative 19, but the thing about these frigid temperatures is that they don't allow for much in the way of cloud cover — the sun was shining brightly and it gave us the motivation to head out and slide around on the ice. As we marched towards our destination we started to second guess our decision to play outside. It was damn cold and down on the canal we'd be exposed to harsher winds.
By the time we got down to the makeshift rink my nose was running in a way I'm not proud of and I didn't have any tissue in my purse. While the boys stuffed their feet into solidified skates, I stood in the background and remembered something my dad once taught me: there is in fact a way to blow your nose sans Kleenex, but it's not pretty. "Desperate times ..." I thought to myself, and as I lay a finger alongside my nose to block one nasal passage, I blew with all my might. The relief I felt was worth the disgusting act, and since it takes some time to get frozen skates on your feet, no one had witnessed my shameful actions. Now it was my turn to trade in my warm boots for my newish skates and see if I could not make a total ass of myself on.
I managed to get my feet into my skates, and I even remembered how to propel myself forward even though I haven't been on the ice in nearly a decade. I didn't fall down once. That's right, not once. There were a few good wobbles, my butt stayed at butt level and my knees maintained a bruise-free status. Unfortunately, after less than 20 minutes I started to lose feeling in my legs and feet, so I proposed we throw in the proverbial towel and head home for some hot water+whiskey+honey&lemon. But not before breaking into the lobby of a building to warm up some.
The next day temperatures plummeted to negative 27 and I decided that my skating adventure was brave enough for now: I left the house for no more than three minutes at a time and spent the day job hunting under an electric blanket. And by "job hunting" I mean watching Netflix and drinking tea.
(From January 26, 2011)
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