I looked ahead and "those lights" seemed like they were miles away. Especially in the bitter cold, with 6 inches of snow on the ground. People were calling it the "Polar Vortex" which being outside for more than 5 minutes made me see why. The wind was whipping at my face, and the cold creeped up my toes and into my legs. And there wasn't a nice warm car at the end of this journey.
Just more cold.
I thought it was a great idea at first. Going to Core Creek Park and sledding at night. He told me to wear my "snow gear" and come on over. But the last time I had proper snow gear, I had braces. and a really bad haircut. Two layers of sweatpants and UGGs seemed to suffice. All I had to do was stay warm, and I was already sweating just standing in my toasty, warm house. It didn't cross my mind that staying dry was a bit more important than being warm. Within 3 steps into the tundra in front of me, my pants were soaked and I was freezing.
But I couldn't say that.
I had to man up and keep going, no matter how bad my teeth were chattering or that each step ached my soaked feet. I shouldered my sled and kept walking. Talking helped and he had a lot to say about the park and childhood snow adventures. We pointed to the surrounding houses--all lit up in the grandeur and warmth--and picked one we'd buy if we ever had the money.
"Nah, that ones ceiling is too high. It'd be hard to clean the spiderwebs at the top," I said pointing to his choice with huge 10-foot ceilings.
"No one will be able to see them," he laughed.
"I'd know they're there!"
Secretly, I wondered if the owners would let us in to warm up and offer us a warm refreshment if we knocked on the door. We just kept walking.
Then a fence erected out of nowhere, blocking access to our final destination. It was too high to climb and couldn't be crawled under. We followed it around, seeing no clear way. It seemed we were stuck with nowhere to turn but around--and don't think for an instant it didn't make me slightly happy.
"Let's just cross here," he said, pointing to where the fence stopped and huge rocks covered a good 20 yards. The rocks wouldn't have been bad either, if they hadn't been covered in snow, hiding most of the crevasses and gaps between them. He went first, falling every few seconds between a gap and I followed. I told him to put his hands out in front of him, to protect his face in case he really fell. Which he did, twice. Finally we crossed the stony meadow and reached our hill.
A steep drop into a valley that led into a creek.
I nervously laughed as he set up our sleds and frantically tried to think of excuses to not go--saying none of them out loud of course. He went first, making a sort of path in the pristine and untouched snow. His sled soared down the hill, over 2 slight humps and stopped only inches before the creek. He rolled off and called up for me to follow down.
"Oh Jesus," I thought as I sat down on my saucer and inched myself closer to the edge. I crossed myself and kicked off. The sled slid down the path like it was on rails. I screamed like a little girl as snow dust sprayed my face and blinded me. The sled started to turn and before I could stop it, I was going down the hill backwards. My stomach flipped and I held onto the sled for dear life. I instinctively planted my feet into the ground and stopped myself when I could feel the sled slowing down--having to walk back drenched from creek water seemed like the kind of death I would not appreciate. Luckily I stopped, and let my body fall back into the snow to catch my breath.
"A rush right," he asked with a big, toothy grin.
"Definitely a rush," I said.
"Ready to go again," he asked.
I looked up at him, and then at the steep hill we just came down and would need to climb back up. I gave an exhausted smile but nodded, remembering when I was 5 and this was fun.
But I think even then, climbing up the hill at the end of a sled ride sucked.
It just sucks more when you're 27.
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