One of the things about Chicago is that if you live here long enough, you’re going to have to deal with a little snow. Sometimes, like today, you have to deal with a lot of snow. And when you live in a three-flat building with several flights of exposed stairs plus porches and walkways, it can be a lot to deal with.
This morning, I woke up to about ten inches of the heavy wet stuff. The kind that is sometimes called “heart attack snow”, after the damage it causes in 50-year-olds that overexert themselves plowing through the stuff like they are still 20 years old. And I get it. There was a times when snowfall didn’t stand a chance against me. I would set to my task like John Henry swinging a hammer. It was competitive shoveling.
I’d shovel my walk, then the neighbor’s walk, then push a car out of a snowbank, then cap it off by rescuing a cat out of a tree or some such.
I’d end every session drenched in sweat, arms pumped, the frigid air bracing and my heart racing or it didn’t count, victorious in my short battle of man against nature.
But as I got older, I learned to work smarter. More efficiently. I learned that salt was my friend — if not the lawn’s. I slowed down so that I wouldn’t overheat. I focused on lifting with my legs and not my back. I even bought an ergonomic shovel. I would occasionally catch myself and feel a little silly. “You’re getting old,” I’d say to myself and laugh.
And then one day it was true.
I was — am — getting old. Certainly, I’m getting older. And all of those adjustments that were just meant for ease and comfort and efficiency are now part of a plan to not die. I looked outside this morning and there was heart attack snow as far as the eye could see and I formulated a strategy to survive it like the grizzled snow warrior that I am.
I bent at the knees. I walked snow to where I wanted to move it instead of power-tossing it. I assigned a section of the battlefield to my son. I even took breaks. I’ve been more impressive, but hey, it all got done.
And I even managed to help a couple of neighbors push their cars through the foot-high snowdrifts in our alley.
I think I’ve still got it.
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This post was previously published on The Shadow.
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Photo credit: Unsplash