Per tradition, my wife, Brianna and I go skiing on or around Valentine’s Day each year. It’s an activity that played a central role in our relationship when we first started dating (I asked her out at Ski Butternut in Great Barrington) and it’s something we’re both pretty passionate about.
This year, we hit the slopes at Berkshire East in Charlemont (shout out to the operators there who’ve done a great job adapting to social distancing requirements, by the way). Typically, though, we use the holiday as an excuse to splurge on a weekend away in Vermont or beyond.
A few years ago, for example, we took a little bit of time off and booked a trip to Killington Ski Area in Rutland County. The night before our first day on the slopes, we went out for a quiet dinner at Brandon Music, a quaint gallery and music venue in Brandon, Vermont. It was cold when we left; downright frigid when we emerged from the warm atmosphere.
The temperature that night dropped to -30 degrees Fahrenheit — a state record, according to a few news publications.
At the time, I was driving a Jeep Cherokee, a beloved but older rig that I’d installed a lift kit into. It certainly wasn’t reliable enough to be driving in those temperatures. Starting it up was a scary process, given the dangerous temperatures. Drained by the cold, the battery had become weak; it just barely turned over. When it did finally ignite, the power steering fluid was sluggish, the lights were dim and the fan belt squealed all the way back to the bed and breakfast.
The next day, we bought as many hand and foot warmers as we could find at the mountain’s ski shop and braved the frigid temps — made to feel even colder by a fierce wind at the peak. I’d never experienced a sharp kind of cold like that before, and I haven’t since.
At first, skiing was a challenge — the cold seeped into the layers, making everything feel sluggish. But the more we skied, the warmer we became.
I was reminded of this experience the other day while pushing through the first quarter mile of a jog on a particularly balmy February day. I felt like that old Jeep trying to turn over in the cold — sluggish, tired and not up to the task. While I’ve stayed fairly active this winter, it’s been a mental challenge at times. Social isolation caused by the pandemic has taken a psychological toll.
Thankfully, it feels like things are starting to change for the better.
We’re emerging not just from the winter months but also, hopefully, from the darkest days of the pandemic. It was encouraging to see Paul Franz’s images published in this newspaper recently of the ongoing vaccination effort taken at Tree House Brewing’s new site in South Deerfield. Gov. Charlie Baker just recently announced that venues can reopen. If all goes as planned, we’ll be able to attend in-person events soon. And the Boston Red Sox are expected to enter Fenway Park that’s at least partially filled with a cheering crowd.
Spring is almost here, and it’s never before felt so necessary.
After overcoming that first quarter-mile, I settled into the jog and was unexpectedly excited by the mud puddles covering the sidewalk (surprisingly because I enjoy winter so much). Birdsong floated on a warm breeze. The trees seemed to be stretching from their winter nap. By the half-mile mark, I’d shaken the sluggishness and, by the end, I felt like myself again.
Andy Castillo can be reached at acastillo@recorder.com.