january

I used to think January had to be a slow time. Not much going on. Hibernate. Curl up on the sofa with the books I started in the middle of a rainy summer day, then put back on the shelf when the skies cleared. And stayed clear. Not this year.

Recently a friend commented on how quickly her home-office desk got cluttered this winter. 'Didn't you just clean it?' someone asked. But I understood what was happening. Because the same thing happens to my desk. When the conditions are good to be outdoors, the desk receives but gives up nothing. The cycling clothes and base layers pile up in the laundry basket while the wool hangs to dry before the next wearing.

I measure my contentment in loads of polypro laundry and the menagerie of boots and gloves hurriedly stashed on the shelves by the front door: cycling boots, ski boots, hiking boots and Uggs. Liner gloves, wind gloves, woolen mittens, insulated mittens. Neck gaitors of varying weights, ear bands and hats.

Above Anchorage in Chugach State Park.
(Yes, you should have a permit to bike this trail in the winter.)

In my datebook, I jot down: 'bike ride with Jon,' or 'ski with Jo-Ann.' 'Pilates @ 11.' Snowshoe or hike. I include trailheads and routes, temperatures and equipment, time of day. The spaces fill with outings and events: movies, the Folk Fest, fundraisers, writing group, planning meetings, dinner with my sister.

This is what a winter of good health and no injuries looks like: Like summer, but with more layers and no mud, bugs or bears.

This Saturday and next, I'll participate in a writing workshop. In the past when I've attended classes or workshops, I've searched for focus, dug for meaning. Now, the focus comes to me in bursts of inspiration, fueled by cold winter air.

Years ago, before I moved to Alaska, a friend said that if I told the world what I wanted, I would get it. This winter, I told the world nothing and somehow it found me: a convergence of ideas and energy and hopefulness. I want to tell the world, 'don't take it away!'

good to be out

commuters

Sunday I had a lovely commute to and from work. Snow was falling in the morning and I didn't have to rush to get there on time. It felt good to ride the route with snow under my wheels. On the way home, Jon and I took our favorite little commuting route through the woods - Lynx Trail, Moose Track, Salmon Run. We stopped to look at the ice on the creek. Not too cold. It was nice to be on a route I know so well riding by the light of my headlamp.

Truth be told, up until Saturday yours truly hadn't been outdoors on the bike in a week. The temps were rising but instead of riding to work, I have been in the midst of making changes. If there's one thing a biking vacation tells me, it's what kind of shape I'm in. This year, not so good. Not enough long rides to make long rides in the sun easier. It didn't help that I acquired what I called "desert crud" just a week into the trip. Darn cough morphed into bronchitis, the other reason I thought I'd stay indoors.

Instead of subjecting my sad lungs to the cold, I climbed on board the trainer. I know, I know! But sometimes it's the only way. The happy part is that the new trainer we have is less boring than the old one. It rocks! Literally, it rocks. It's a Kinetic Rock & Roll and it sways from side to side when I ride. I think it makes it more comfortable because it's more like riding on the road, but without the fear of crashing on rollers.

The other change is that I'm trying to make time to go to Pilates. It's been ages but I went to last Monday's class and my abs still hurt when I arrived at the Wednesday class! I'm not big on suffering, but feeling that muscle soreness told me one thing: they were working.

One thing that keeps me from going to Pilates classes is that it doesn't work with my bike commute. So my goal is to find a balance of enough commuting, enough Pilates and enough riding on the trainer. Plus knowing when to say "enough!," and push away my dinner plate. Now that's hard.