There are ski people and snow shovelers.
Ski people are not necessarily skiers. They are merely people who get giddy over snow. They love unpacking their winter gear and pulling on a big, comfy sweater. Their skin still glows despite the dry air that leaves snow shovelers looking twice their age. They celebrate snow days with a big sledding adventure and steaming mugs of hot cocoa. And in Colorado, they are on the slopes for the first run of the day – whooping it up and smiling ear to ear.
I am a snow shoveler. Snow means only that I have to wake up early to dig us out. My mood plummets the day the pool closes from the mere anticipation of the coming cold. Wool makes me itch. My skin cracks. Long walks move from sunny trails to the basement treadmill. The kids get stir crazy. The dog’s wet paws track prints all over our wood floors. And smiling freezes my front teeth.
I wish I could be a ski person. I am surrounded by them. You would hope that their enthusiasm and rosy-cheeked celebration of winter would rub off. But every morning, the snow shoveler in me wakes up wishing it were 80 degrees and I were cheering on the kids at a swim meet, golf tournament or baseball game.
…and it’s only December.