That. That picture. That picture right up there.
That’s how I’m beginning to feel this winter.
Not because I’m depressed or lonely or fatigued. No. Because I just want to get out and move and the Snow. Just. Keeps. Falling.
I am a winter lump who is home bound and getting more misshapen by the minute. I dare not go for a run because I will fall or get frostbite. I miss half of my Zumba time because class gets cancelled or driving is too treacherous. I do yoga, but it just doesn’t give the same rush as continuous fast movement.
Couple this with a lot of time wrapped in blankets on the couch and too many caves to comfort food cravings and you’ve got that lumpy snowmoundman right up there. My almost two-year-old could take him down. My almost two-year-old did take him down.
Now, don’t get me wrong. I think winter hunkering is great, and there’s a small part of me that relishes not having to do yard work or shave my legs. But this is beginning to feel like Narnia, and my inner hippie needs to run free on a beach that isn’t frozen over.
I’ve been really well behaved this year as far as not bah-humbugging and enjoying the cozy. Still, I’m confident that I’m not alone in my sentiments. When Spring does make her grand entrance, me and my sneakers are gonna give her what for.