The windchill this week has been hovering around -35 C on average. People from other, warmer places, have been asking “Ok, but what’s the real temperature? The one on the actual thermometer?” To which, honestly, I have been letting my inner bitch respond along the lines of “Why? ‘Cause you want to make a statistic? The windchill *is* the real temperature. It shows that, upon exposure, your skin freezes in the same amount of time it would if in an environment with -35C temperature on the ‘actual thermometer’, but without any wind or humidity.” Yeah, I’m not that proud of myself, either.
However, the irony is my craving to spend time outside. Maybe it’s the forbidden fruit. Maybe I’ve lost all maturity. Maybe [gasp] I’m starting to like Edmonton winters. You know, even with the abysmal temperatures, which, truth be told, only happen on a handful of days (ok, maybe two handfuls; three, if it’s a really bad winter), when the sun is shining, life is good. When the sun’s not shining? Well, why don’t we leave that topic for a summer day, ok?
The trick is, from I’ve been told and been able to ascertain myself, to get out often. In two ways: get out of the house and get out of town. While the latter might be a luxury, the former really holds the secret. Get out of the house. Properly dressed, of course. When you think you’ve put on enough clothes, put one more layer, and take an extra pair of mitts in your pockets. Take that touque, too, it’s on the house.