It’s early morning, the sky raining ice onto my office windows as I type. It’s winter in Canada.
A few weeks back, piles of snow landed on our planet. I’m convinced my driveway got the most. One snow cloud hovering overhead delighting in the one house on the street without a snowblower.
Snow everywhere. If you own a dog, you have another crisis on your hands. Nowhere for Rover to do his business.
Ever since the COVID Puppyboom, the neighbourhood has been teeming with dogs. Big ones, small ones, all of them launching themselves into a few feet of snow to ‘go’. Responsible dog owners diving knee-deep into the pile to clean up after them.
This winter, in our neck of the woods, it’s been something to endure. A classy problem, no question. Warm houses. Cozy dogs. Plenty of coffee.
And still, the first day above freezing feels like the universe personally did you a favour.
Which is just what happened this week. Zero degrees Celsius. A lady walks by my house in shorts.
I spent three days in Stratford, a small town not far from home. I brought my runners, warm socks and no idea what I’d find. Woke up to a sunny day. Time for a run.
Outside my building, I step into what feels like a deep sandy beach, a frozen one. Runnable? Sure. Just don’t twist an ankle.
A few steps later, the sidewalk cleared and for the next six kilometres, it was like a track built just for me.
Ploughed. Packed. Runnable. A crisp winter day. Joy and the Counting Crows radiating from my AirPods.
My first outside run in weeks. And then it hit me.
To what do I owe this amazing winter running experience? The sidewalk ploughs.
Thanks to living in Canada where snowy winters are predictable enough to invest in the equipment and personnel to do this work, even in the smaller towns.
And thanks to the lottery I won, being born here, now, in this tiny sliver of human history where so much is possible.
And … to all of the invisible systems working in the background:
Running water.
Garbage collection.
Recycling programs.
Ever-stocked grocery store shelves.
Farmers. Truck drivers. Early morning stockers.
Technology connecting us across oceans.
The sun rising again, as it has for thousands of lifetimes.
The roof over my head.
The slippers on my feet.
The husband and kids who bought them.
To the dogs asleep at my feet, warm heartbeats at my ankles.
The gym.
The women who train next to me.
The trainer who decided helping women get stronger was a career worth building.
The people who hold doors, say please, thank you, smile and look you in the eye.
And yes, the #@%&s.
The ones who cut you off in line or in traffic.
To the uncomfortable conversations.
The moments that light up the ‘don’t mess with me’ reflex.
The problems. The mistakes.
What I choose to do with both.
The days I feel sad. And glad. And mad.
All of it. Proof that I am alive.
No matter what else we face in this messy, complicated, extraordinary time we live in…
It’s pretty amazing to be here. And it all started by noticing a cleared sidewalk.
Any clear sidewalks in your path today?
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Mary
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