Tuesday, December 19, 2017


I walked four miles today. The wind chill was 4 degrees.

I am not this hardy.

I wore enough clothes to keep a small village warm, and was still cold in places. I had some kind of executioner's hood with a cutout for my face that I also wore.

I was shuffling along, through one of the many icy stretches, when a runner passed me. A runner! Running on basically a thin sheet of ice, with no special cleats on his running shoes, as if he was some kind of Ice God. Perhaps he was, because I never saw him fall, and he eventually disappeared into the distance.

That's the thing about people up here: they just don't give a shit. They basically live in Canada, although they call it "Michigan", and they're going to keep running, even if it's on solid ice. They also keep walking, and falling is apparently just something that will eventually happen, and they're fine with it.

Driving? Everyone drives. Nobody cares if the side roads have three inches of ice on them. Go slow, slide around a bit, get the car turned in the right direction again, and move on.

Me? I put a box of half a dozen hot Krispy Kreme doughnuts inside my coat, against my chest, to warm me up until I got to Subway.

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