Mid-January, and the Seasonal Affective Disorder is kicking in something fierce. I think it's because I managed to spend the major transition week, climate-wise, in Costa Rica where the temperatures were reminiscent of early August. I usually get cabin-feverish this time of year, get a little rusty and tired, but this winter's been harsh. I started taking multi-vitamins and vitamin D in the end of November, hoping to ward off this spectre. It's interesting. The vitamin D, in a double-dose, does just a little bit to help, by which I mean that when I'm taking it and proceeding to walk up the street to work (20 minute walk) in -5 centigrade weather with the snow falling, I am perfectly conscious of two things. The first is that the weather is absolutely miserable. The second is that I should be more upset about this. I threw ginseng into my morning routine, making me feel like a borderline supplement junkie. I can't say whether or not any of it is doing any good... I've already managed to get sick four times since September.
I find particular joy, however, in walking back to the train after work. In the mornings, this walk feels like a long hike uphill with eight hours to put in before I get any real reprieve. At the end of the day, I walk southward, toward the lake. In December, I walked to the train in darkness, in the light of streetlamps and headlights. In January, I see the days getting longer, literally. That carries with it some promise, that soon it will be March, and then May, and then I'll be able to pull my mountain bike out of my parents' garage and start feeling right again. I try not to remember how many months away that is. It's difficult when every fiber of my being is aching for catharsis. A few years ago I took up mountain biking. If I play my cards right, this year it'll be whitewater kayaking. I'm aching to climb some rocks and trees and play in some rivers and swim in non-chlorinated water and jump off things and seek vengeance on the rollerblade trail that tore up my knee last summer, all at once.
Alas, it is mid-January. My activity levels are limited to (are you ready?): yoga, in my living room; yoga, in a yoga studio; running on a treadmill; lifting weights; any gym-friendly exercises; any living room friendly exercises; and when the money comes, I might get in a day of skiing this year. I suppose if my masochistic side comes out and decides it craves a good chill to the bones, I may venture out skating. I think I'm starting to understand peoples' compulsion toward New Year's Resolutions. By the new year, people have been breathing the indoor air just long enough to be dissatisfied and are itching for change. Any change. If their promise coincides with the new calendar getting hung on the wall, they may even convince themselves that the next major holiday, Easter, is closer than it seems.
This post has no real point. How self-indulgent of me to post something as silly as an idle musing about hating winter. And how unoriginal! Perhaps I can at least end this on a somewhat smile-provoking note.
As I walk down the street to my train after work, after the novelty of lengthening daylight fades (as does the daylight), I can always count on hearing two sounds: sirens and car horns. I'm almost jaded enough to tune them out like the rest of the urban population, but I'm not quite there yet. I still look up when I hear a horn honking, and it's infuriating in Toronto because people will honk their horns for almost no reason at all. Last week as my happy headspace got interrupted by an obnoxious car horn I looked up, and a thought crossed my mind. The driver honking the horn was driving a super-expensive European SUV, and I thought "wow! He must really be going places, owning a car like that. Except that he's not going anywhere. Because he's stuck in Toronto. At rush hour." I'd love for someone to write a haiku about that. Good job, sir, you made my evening.
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