Chill


Sunday morning was deviously deceiving. The lake out back looked peaceful with a finally fully frozen lid; and the way the sun hit the dust of snow on the deck made it glitter. The temp was 15, with a feels-like temp of 1.

It’s colder (and snowier) now, but the air seems to lazily stand still. Maybe like we’re only capable of hearing to a certain frequency, we’re only capable of feeling up to a certain deep freeze. For that, I’m thankful… I think.

I really was thankful, on Sunday, when B put in a request for chili. I opted for this no-frills, fast slow-cooker recipe mostly because it was a third of the calorie count of some frillier recipes I found. I set it up in the morning and by early afternoon had a nice cozy pot of—watery chili. Blerg. I thickened it with a quick cornstarch mix and was surprised to find it was actually good.

The only other to-do item on my Sunday agenda was to get a run in. Single digit temps meant it would be at the gym. Treadmills kill a runner’s sense of mental freedom; the only thing on my mind was to repeatedly wonder why all the muscle men walked around so much more than they worked out.

I ended up successfully passing the miles with a self-imposed speed workout: two minutes comfortable, two faster and two faster than that. Repeat until all the muscle men leave. And you know what? It wasn’t nearly as dreadful as I thought—nor was a particularly frigid Sunday with a bowl of warm chili, my coziest pajamas and a view of a glittery backyard.

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