Walk 1.5 Miles in My Shoes or Holy F***ing S***! It's COLD!

I've been wanting to write about the cold for awhile for those of you who have never lived in a city with extreme cold, but I haven't been sure how to describe it. Right now, it's somewhere around 1 or 2 degrees Fahrenheit, and the tiniest little snowflakes you've ever seen are falling outside. It is misting snow. When you are walking through it, you breathe little flakes in with every breath. The wind forces them into your eyes and nose, like you're in a cold sandstorm. It's a strange sensation.

The thing about living in a city with extremely cold temperatures is that you don't have the option of running out to the car, starting it, running back inside, and then running from one heated space to the next. On days when it is really cold, you know you have no choice but to go out in it. (For now I define "really cold" as less than about 10 degrees Fahrenheit, but it gets down to -20 and more here.) The cold is enough to elicit the most profane swearing you've ever heard, accompanied by groans and shivers as you attempt to make your way to your destination without just plain passing out. And keep in mind, global warming means it is warmer here now than it was decades and centuries ago. It's a wonder Quebec was ever settled.

The walk to the metro from our house is just under a mile. It's a little less than a half a mile to my office once I get off the metro. When I first walk outside, there's about 10 seconds when I think to myself, "Oh. It's not so bad today." And then I regret saying that as all of a sudden I'm assaulted by cold. When I breathe in through my mouth, the air is so cold that I choke on it and cough. I picture the little air sacks in my lungs freezing on the spot and turning to little blocks of ice. I try to fix the problem by pulling my scarf up over my face, but that fogs my glasses, so I have to take them off because God knows I'm not removing my scarf. So here I am, blind, shuffling down the sidewalk. And I say shuffle because that is exactly what you have to do. It's so cold here that the snow is slick, glittery powder, and what had warmed up the week before has turned to ice. It's dangerous to hurry, so a 15-minute walk becomes a 25-minute walk. As I breathe out, the moisture from my breath turns into tiny ice crystals on my scarf. My eyes water, and the tears freeze on my cheeks. My teeth are cold, even though my mouth is closed. After 2 blocks, my fingers start to go numb, even though I am wearing thick gloves made especially for this kind of weather. I make fists, then relax, and repeat this over and over again in an attempt to keep blood flowing. I can't put my hands in my pockets, because I need them free to keep my balance. By the time I'm a couple of blocks away from the metro, I'm moving forward by sheer force of will, swearing and grunting with every step. Some idiot walks by me without a hat on, and I stare in wonder and disgust. That's someone who grew up here, I tell myself. And finally--finally--I'm inside the metro, which is blessedly heated. My fingers hurt as they warm up to room temperature. The frozen breath on my scarf warms up, so that my scarf is wet and smells like oatmeal and coffee. I remove my hat and unzip my jacket to keep from sweating, because I know I have to go out again when I get downtown, and sweat is a bad thing in cold weather. I put my glasses back on and look around at my fellow passengers waiting for the train, and we all stand there slouched, looking exhausted.