Since I moved here to Boston, there are two things I do every
day. One is to go to the gym and the other is to call my
mother.
Since I moved here to Boston, there are two things I do every day. One is to go to the gym and the other is to call my mother.
Yesterday, while walking home from the gym, as I placed the call to my mom, an arctic chill passed over Northeastern University. It felt like the temperature had dropped 10 degrees in just a few seconds. I found myself struggling just to hold the phone.
I described the torturous walk to my mother like this, “I can’t feel the fingers on my right hand. They are red and frozen around the phone. A car almost hit me because I couldn’t see where I was going through the tearing up of my eyes. The wind has hit my face for so long that it feels like someone has punched me in the cheeks. I can hardly speak because my face has been frozen in the same position since I left the gym and finally, I can’t breath through my nose because the cold has frozen the inside of my nose into tiny icicle boogers blocking the air passage. Oh, and how’s California?”
Laughing, she tells me that it is lovely in Morgan Hill. She says she is sitting outside on the patio, having lemonade, enjoying blue skies, bright sun, warm temperatures – you know, the usual.
But Mom, I’m cold! I don’t think I’ve ever been this cold in my entire life. Before I moved to Boston, people told me – read that warned me – that it does get cold here. It’s not that I didn’t believe them, but this is really, really cold. Last week, temperatures ranged from -10 to -25 during the day and night. Boston, nor any other city in this area, has experienced temperatures like this for 50 years. A Canadian cold front has chosen this winter, my first year in Boston, to rein its fury over the Northeast.
Usually I can look back on my weeks here and think of fun times with my friends out in the city or at a party. Not this past week, though. It isn’t that things haven’t been funny, though. My funniest memory this week begins at 8 a.m., with my friend Andy as he and I make our way to our English class battling the 0 degree temperatures and 15 mph winds making it feel like -10.
I will never forget how he and I, walking through one of Boston’s many wind tunnels, leaning forward and holding onto each other as if going through a tornado. Andy starts bellowing, and I can’t help but laugh because he’s lived here his whole life and is having a harder time dealing with the weather than I am. Finally, after nearly 10 minutes later (a walk that normally takes about 3 minutes), with tears in our eyes from the cold, and our faces frozen into strange arctic expressions, we make it to our English class.
I’m not really complaining. I just want to give all of you readers, you nice warm “Morgan Hill-ites” who are enjoying a sunny, temperate climate all winter long, a small glimpse of what I am dealing with. Despite the fact that before Boston my clothing consisted of mainly jeans, T-shirts, and sandals, I have managed to update my wardrobe with East coast necessities to keep warm. I bundle up in as many layers as humanly possible every time I head out of doors and, as described by my friends here, I seem to bear a striking resemblance to a giant walking pile of laundry bumbling down the street.
Back in California, like everyone else, I took for granted that I could wear light clothing most of the year ’round, and my habit of working out every day stems from how those kind of clothes show off your body. Because of this, I am very conscious about how I look. In Boston, however, experiencing freezing temperatures six months out of the year, men and women alike are bundled up from head to toe December to May. Because of this, they don’t have to worry about how their bodies look until the Spring thaw.
I work out everyday, for at least an hour and a half, but who can tell? Today, I wore boots, thick socks, corduroy pants, a shirt, a zip up sweater, a jean jacket, a snow jacket, a hat, a scarf and gloves. Who could ever guess that under all those layers is a fit young lady? I do miss those great Morgan Hill winters.
