This is a story about one of the most trying relationships in my life. No, it's not my husband. Not one of my friends. Not someone at work, or a pet. This is about my increasingly strained connection to winter in Alaska. Despite feeling I've been cheated out of an Alaska winter I feel I deserve, I am doing my best to keep up my end of things. It's been hard.
Through November and most of December, there was very little snow. Winter drove the temperatures down -- going through the motions, I suppose -- but precipitation never materialized. Then came Christmas morning. Fat snowflakes fell. I felt an immediate and powerful sense of forgiveness and magnanimousness. This feeling wasn't just about the weather; it was directed outward toward all of Alaska like the glow of sunshine on fresh snow. I imagined skiing, snowshoeing, and sledding. All the disappointments up to that point (the ice, the frozen grass on the lawn, the dust in the air) was forgiven.
Unfortunately, the forecast felt warm too. Later in the day, the sun came out and the temperature rose to nearly 40 degrees. The little snow that had fallen became dense and wet -- and ultimately froze to slick ice on the ground. It stayed that way through much of January.
I felt bitter toward something more powerful than me that I couldn't exactly understand. I could have blamed climate change, or the polar jet stream (or both!) but instead I blamed Alaska. I had trusted Alaska to have real winter. But Alaska let me down.
Reliable running
Needing to be outside regardless of the lack of snow, I tugged on studded sneakers and continued running like I had been all summer. This is the outdoors equivalent of burying my head in the sand, but what else was I going to do? I'd planned on skiing, but after several slick, knockdown bouts with the trails on Hillside, I put the skis in the basement. I just kept running, and sometimes ice skating. I went for walks with friends. I tried not to care.
Now, in February, there is more snow on the ground. The marmot hasn't seen his shadow and the forecast sometimes promises more snow. There seems to be a resurgence of winter once again, maybe this time for real. The light is returning every day, pushing the sun farther up into the sky. I'm still stubbornly running because it's reliable. It was always there for me.
I still have this strange feeling toward the snow. I feel burned by it; like if I look at the trails sideways and have any kind of hope to actually ski on them, the snow will all melt.
So, right in time for Valentine's Day, a question has been posed: Winter seems to be here, but should I take it back? Perhaps this is a better question for Wayne or Wanda, but it seems to me that a flimsy offer of snow this late in the game shouldn't make me swoon.
Still, the combination of snow and sunlight is really intoxicating. Maybe I could pull out the skis and start enjoying them again, free of worry. After all, surely Alaska would never pull that kind of a winter on me ever again. Or would it?
Turning to the marathon
I know, I know. Alaska will do exactly what it wants. If February really is going to host the winter that's been absent up until now, the only thing that will prevent me from enjoying it is my bad attitude. I look around me and see that I may be the only person holding a grudge. Many of my friends were also kicked to the curb by winter, despite promises and forecasts promising it would arrive "soon". They appear to have gotten over it and accepted the apology (in the form of snow), however late. They are hitting the trails. They are training for the Tour of Anchorage, the Oosik, or sharing photos from a dazzling Ski for Women full of amazing costumes. They have moved on, which frankly is the smart thing to do. Take winter where you can get it and be willing to roll with it. It doesn't come on our terms, or when we expect it to, anymore.
I'll create a kind of compromise with Alaska and winter. I'm not willing to fully forgive the rude, late arrival of winter. I'm cranky at this point of the year, and quite emotionally fragile, which doesn't seem like a good time to wholeheartedly rekindle a damaged relationship.
What I will do is continue to stubbornly run, because I created a marathon plan for myself in of the absence of anything more wintry to do. At least if I succeed in training for and running a marathon this spring, I'll have built something for myself.
But imagine if it snows — and I sincerely hope it does — and sticks. Imagine if conditions are passable, not perfect just something I can get a little glide on. I will get the skis back out of the basement. Maybe some sunny Sunday I'll get a friend to do a car drop with me and we'll do our own mini-Tour of Anchorage, skiing from Hillside to Westchester Lagoon, or from Valley of the Moon out to Kincaid. The sun will inch its way up higher and higher into the sky in the middle of the afternoon, reflecting the bright white snow up our faces as we glide along. These kinds of days make February worth all it took to get here.
Almost.
Alli Harvey lives, works and plays in Anchorage.