I'm doing well! Aside from the ridiculous amount of pressure in the bottom of my stomach from eating a hefty lentil soup and plenty of cheese, I'm fit enough to lift a mountain. I got up this morning and decided to take a run. It's been snowing for about a week straight now, and the result has been a beautiful two feet of snow. Thinking, "I've done this before!" I hopped out of my apartment complex with a pair of shorts (no running pants), a hoodie, gloves, and a beanie. Normally, the legs are no problem, but they got whooped today. Just to make sure it would be plenty painful, I went on a foot path next to one of the rivers, which is seldom traveled upon. So I slipped and stumbled my way for a good 40 minutes, continually brushing and scratching my ankles against the snow on either side. I didn't give up, though! NO MERCY. By the time I got back, the hairs on my lower calves were housing their own population of mini ice-sickles, and a good portion of my beard had been frozen together from the moisture in my breath.
I'd still say it was worth it. Since yesterday, the sun has been shining, and it's "a whole new world" as our Persian friend would say. It really is like I'm seeing a whole different kind of beauty. When I go outside, I feel like I'm seeing a bunch of friends for the first time in a long time. All of the mountains grew out their hair and beards and smirk the sun's reflection thinking they've tricked me, but there's no tricking mountain-man-Dan! I have the beard to prove it.
I really don't get all of these Grinches who don't like the winter. Things are happening all over the place that give me warm fuzzy feelings to make up for the cold. The center of gravity of Bad Ischl seems to have shifted to the temporary and recently-built ice-skating rink, which is currently orbited by about five stands serving juicy bratwursts and sinfully delicious drinks. Everyone stands, huddled around small tables and haphazard fires to chat and watch the children playing games, laughing and squealing with delight on the ice. Almost every time I've stood at a stand snow has been falling, aided in its romantic effect by an obtrusive but sweetly decorated and lit crane in the background.
Every time I walk up the Kalvarienberg ("Mount Calvary." sound familiar?), one of the small mountains in Bad Ischl, I walk past children and families sledding down the perfect hills. On my right I pass the stations of the cross leading to Jesus' crucifixion, and on my left kids lose their breath in wonder of temporary flight. When I come down around 4:30 as the light is fading, a boy asks me what time it is. Sadly, there seems to be an adverse relationship between amount of fun had and amount of available light needed to have it. Time to go home. There's a church midway up the mountain, the Kalvarienbergkirche ("Mount Calvary Church", wouldn't ya know?). I don't know if it was the shadows of dawn, but I noticed for the first time yesterday that the statued saints and bishops surrounding the crucified Jesus are dancing. I'm sure that wasn't the sculptors intention, but a couple of them really do have just the slightest hint of a jerk at the hip or a wily leg gotten loose.
Turns out my students like Christmas. I've been forcing them to watch a video matched to the song from the movie "How the Grinch stole Christmas!" You know the one, "You're a mean one, Mister Grinch..." Then I make half of them be the Grinch and the other half be Santa Claus, and they have to battle it out for the fate of Christmas. Most of the Grinches betray me behind my back, because they're burning of such youthful promise and purity that they can't manage a lie.
Everyone can ski except for me. Every time I tell my students I don't know how to they gasp in horror. James, of course, took it upon himself to remedy this situation. He can't have his wingman taking the bench for all of winter, so skiing is the new frontier. I bought a pair of old, terrible ski shoes for one euro at a flea market, and he provided me with the rest of the equipment. At the end of the last snowfall he abducted me and took me to his house, where Lucy filled me to the brim with the meats of her labor only to push me into the cold to face the harsh world of slipping...all of the time. I was made to push my way awkwardly and unbalanced back and forth across the drive-way on a shorter pair of skis. Once I'd improved and James was done clearing snow with his tractor, he took me up the tiny hill next to his house. He gave me one exercise after the other, and I quickly graduated classes, probably making it up to the equivalent of a seahorse in swimming lessons after 30 minutes.
Impatient for an honorable end, we took to the road to find a hill worthy of a good death. No mercy!! After leg breaking work making our own piste (right terminology, ski friends?), James shoved me down the hill in his "baptism by ice" method. No, I'm just playing, he only pushed me with encouraging words and a little advice. By the end, I was a pro, and now I'm retiring.
