Biff America: Cows and cold comfort

OK, so this Greek wrestler named Milo, who lived around the sixth century B.C., was a real stud.
The Greeks were ahead of the times (actually not saying much, it being 500 B.C.) when it came to physical culture and athletics. Their soldiers, athletes and just regular folks recognized the value of training the muscles, heart and lungs.
Of course, this was before dumbbells and pickleball, so the Greeks had to get creative. The legend goes that one day Milo picked up a baby calf, placed it on his shoulders and ran up a hill. He picked up that same calf every day and ran up that same hill for years. Over time that small calf got larger and turned into a bull, yet it happened so slowly that Milo didn’t notice. The legend goes that Milo became so buff from carrying that bull around he won all the wrestling events he entered.
I can only imagine that all the other wrestlers who saw Milo’s success went out and bought bulls of their own.
I have to say — other than the buff part, Milo and I have much in common. When something occurs slowly, over time, no matter how challenging, we seem not to notice and it makes that thing easier to endure.
Early this month, I was debating if I needed to wear my warmest jacket to ride my bicycle to the post office in 22 degree weather. Now granted, bicycling to town in temperatures 10 degrees colder than freezing is not nearly as impressive as carrying a bull up a hill. But it is also something that folks who live in other places would consider crazy.
Growing up near Boston, I considered 22 wicked cold. But, like most of us who have lived years in the land of the “Chosen Frozen,” my weather perspective has evolved.
Before my neighborhood became so upscale that few families could afford to live here, I loved to watch kids walking to the bus stop in mid-winter wearing shorts. I have friends in Florida who insists their children wear long underwear when the temperature is below 50. It is all what you are used to, and the longer you live where the altitude is high and the temperatures are low, the more the term “cold” is relative.
The first thing I do after waking up every morning is look at the thermometer that tells us the outside temperature. If the dial reads temperatures in the upper 20s I think, “that’s a little warm — we should get out skiing before the snow gets too sloppy.”
The truth is, were you to ask 100 folks if they’d rather be cold or comfortable, no one would say, “cold, please. And, while you’re at it, squeeze lemon juice into my eyes.” I’m not saying I love cold weather, but over the years I have developed a Stockholm syndrome acceptance of it. Since I’m kidnapped by the cold in order to ski, I might as well love my captor.
I know folks who have moved to warmer climates for health reasons or because they sought balmy weather. I also know many that realize that same low mercury that keeps the thin skinned at bay, while allowing us to play in the snow.
The ski resorts and our backcountry trails can get busy, granted. But can you imagine how packed this place would be if it were warm enough for me to ski while wearing a speedo? The spectators alone would clog the community.
I have nothing against my Southern friends — I know many cool folks who live in places you can nap outdoors without dying. But I will also go as far to say that some of the nicest people I have known over the years are from cold climates. I have seldom been tailgated by a car with Midwest plates and I often drive 5 mph below the speed limit.
As I sit here pecking this out — about a week after I began these scratchings — the temperatures outside are 8 below zero. Our indoor thermostat reads just under 60. Since there is no sense turning up the heat if we are leaving, I’m typing this wearing a sweater and ski hat. We have plans to head out to one of our favorite ski destinations. On most other days we’d be worried that we might not have the place to ourselves, but these crazy cold temperatures mean that we will encounter only a few hearty souls.
When we get home, we’ll crank the heat up to 65 and look forward to summer. I just hope the Speedo still fits.
Jeffrey Bergeron’s column “Biff America” publishes Mondays in the Summit Daily News. Bergeron has worked in TV and radio for more than 30 years, and his column can be read in several newspapers and magazines. He is the author of “Mind, Body, Soul.” Bergeron arrived in Breckenridge when there was plenty of parking and no stoplights. Contact him at biffbreck@yahoo.com.

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