I’ve apparently lost my ever-living mind… or I’m discovering some of the cajones I lost two years ago when I slipped on the ice (yet again) and broke my wrist. I have the balance ability of a very large abominable snowman perched on top of a knitting needle… catastrophe waiting to happen! After that whole wrist kerfuffle, I swore I would never ever ever do anything snow/ice related again… that included skiing, ice skating, and snowshoeing… oh snowshoeing. The ironic part of this whole thing is that I got snowshoes for Christmas exactly three years ago… the year before the wrist kerfuffle. That year happened to be a crappy year for snow fallage, so I did not get out to try them. The 2 years after I had a broken wrist and then had sworn off snow sports… you know me… daredevil Luigi and her magic wimp brain.
Imagine my delight when the opportunity to snowshoe presented itself to me the day after Christmas. Oh, you kid… but I don’t! I put on my dread brain before I went… you know the brain… the one who thinks up every catastrophic event that could possibly take place and then tries to figure a way to get out of it? I had everything going… the one where I fell in the middle of the wilderness with a broken ankle. I’d decided I’d use my zipper to reflect the light of the sun onto the snow in my glove so I could drink the water… and then try to murder a snow hare for supper… before or after I’d died of hypothermia I hadn’t really gotten to yet. There was the one where I dropped the car keys that were in my coat pocket in the snow and then couldn’t find them so had to build an igloo using prairie grass… again, the hypothermia solution didn’t quite come to fruition. I don’t do snow sports, so I had nothing warm to wear… no long-legged underroos or snow pants or tall socks… so I wore what I wear everyday… one pair of pants and a low-cut sock and crossed my fingers. Madre, on the other hand had 18 layers and a snowsuit on… she’s much more vertically talented than I am.
Except in this instance… which I did not attempt!
I gotta say. Wearing snowshoes is like wearing a big ole clown shoe and then remembering that your feet are bigger than what your head thinks they are. My head was all like… size 10 feet… but my snowshoes were all like… size 8000000000. It’s a weird sensation when you aren’t used to it. When I’d finally taken the things off, I felt like they’d taken off the shackles that I’d worn as an imaginary character in Les Miserables. I was free… FREE at last!
It was at this point that I was sure I’d be accosted by every character from Into The Woods whilst trying to stay upright on my gargantuan bear paws.
I found myself tripping several times… but I did not faceplant this time. It’s a Christmas Miracle, Wilber! Not even during the many times where I had to step off the trail into the deeper snow to let a cross country skiiers pass me by. Of course I moved at the pace of a snail… tripping and hyperventilating all of the way. Stupid dread brain! To sum the experience up… I’d do it again. It’s a great workout. Hopefully the next time I’ll be able to find the off position on my dread brain so I can enjoy it more. It’s broken, I tell you!
I hope you all had a very Merry Christmas! What didja’ get?
PS – Does anyone have any recommendations for fairly clean television series that I could streamline before school starts again and withers my brain into oblivion? Preferrably shows that can be watched online via Amazon Prime, Hulu, or Netflix? I’m not into the nighttime soaps, so Grey’s Anatomy-type shoes are a thumbs down… but I’m open to other interesting ones!