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A reloaded post is a short-and-sweet collection of the (sometimes-interlinked) randomness from my recent life, universe and everything else in between. They would be more detailed but they tend to be events lacking in either (a) details or (b) depth; Or lacking in the time to more fully record them. Enjoy.
It snowed. If this seems a familiar lament, that is because the one of the last posts I wrote was complaining about snow. But it snowed again mid-week, this time burying the city in yet another (seemingly-unseasonable) blanket of the white stuff.
Sparkle was not impressed and dashed out for a quick-as-she-could piddle. And I hustled to get the girl ready for school and myself ready for work, despite a lingering bit of overnight stomach discomfort. Whatever. I dropped Claire off and by the time I was half-way to the LRT station I was in a mixed befuddlement of weather and stomach pain and snow-frustration. I turned around, went home, and called in sick. It was a good thing, too, and not just for the proximity to private wash-room facilities. Over the course of the day I watched as darn-near a foot of snow piled up on then shrouded the city in white.
By four I was frantically scraping down the driveway enough that I could make an escape with my car and skid my way over to the school to pick up Claire. By five it was pretty much determined that Karin wouldn’t be making it home over the closed highways, at least not until the snow had stopped and they ploughed the roads the next day.
Running in Snow
Of course, running was out. Running in a little snow is fine. Running in a bunch of snow makes for an exhausting adventure and a subsequently interesting bit of venting via a blog post. Running in epic snowpocalypse makes for broken runners. We cancelled everything on Thursday, and even by Friday I struggled to find a bit of clear path to make even a moderate neighbourhood jaunt something besides a epic fail of winter pain. I skipped. And I skipped again on Saturday. I don’t take skipping lightly these days, but I skipped none the less. There was nothing to be done about it. It just was not fit for man nor beast out of the trails.
By Sunday, despite the encroachment of a minus-twenty chill that had slunked in behind whatever storm-front that had delivered the snow, I joined my group for a near-on seventeen kilometer trudge. But by then the paths were mostly clean and the dwindling remains of unswept trails did not much more than send us trotting off course and on a crazy path-finding expedition to routes yet unseen.
Epic snow makes for epic play, of course. Claire was not even a wisp of hesitant when I suggested we wander over to the hill for some sledding on Saturday afternoon. We weren’t the first to have thought of ascending the mini-mountain near our house, but we were the first to have trudged through any particular route from our side of the park. This meant a slog through shin-deep fresh powder, and trail-blazing a simple path from the cleared side-walk to the hill.
I shuffled and routed a straight-as-possible line from A to B, but the kid sine-waved her own variable-amplitude route. The biggest surprise upon reaching the hill was not the abundance of snow, but the fact that it had drifted into a perilous sort-of lip of hard-pack on the fast side of the slope; A run up allowed for a bit of acceleration before a solid eighteen-inch drop over the edge of the drift whirled sledders into an near-out-of-control drop and spin routine that looked downright painful for anyone over the age of twelve. Claire tested it with a head-first belly-slide, but within a quick five minutes was daring a bone-jostling repetition of the descent on her sled.
I videoed. I need my body in working condition for the next few months.