I hate the winter. My problem with winter: I have developed a less than ecstatic opinion of snow as well as a downright hatred of the cold. I have a problem with going into convulsions due to sub-zero temperatures while properly insulated. I grimace when I think of my fingers aching while in the "comfort" of large fuzzy mittens. I don't relish the fact that my lungs develop icicles simply by breathing in.
All of these reasons (and several more) hit me like a 50 lbs mallet when I brave the 3 degree weather to wait for trax. There are usually ten of us who wait for the 7:34 AM train at the South Campus trax station. The sky is still dark and therefore the temperature hasn't changed much since 2 AM. There we stand bundled together, jumping up and down in vain for some slight hope that it is possible to generate heat. We walk in circles, bend down pulling our various parkas to our ankles, or just lay down and cry, unable to fight the forces of nature.
Time check: 7:35 AM.
The groan is unison. The train is late, again. At 7:33 AM there was such expectation that we only had to suffer for one more minute. Now, there is no telling how long we will have to endure the steely knives, chapped face, and numbing thighs. I begin to writhe in pain. "God!" I scream. "Why are you punishing us? Deliver us!" This plea for mercy becomes the watch cry of our little, broken clan. We all turn our frostbitten faces skyward and pray to be spared.
Suddenly God shines his light on his faithful, patient children. The light of God, if you are curious, came to us as the headlight of trax. The train screeches to a halt and opens its wide, inviting doors. A burst of heat emerges from the doors beckoning us to be warm and safe. We pile onto the train, singing praises and trying to imagine the feeling of defrosting that is undoubtedly soon to come. We cozy into our found seats and the train takes off.
One day down. Four to go. Thirteen weeks until May. Ugh.