One feat down, one to go. I went up into the Rocky Mountains, to Silverthorne, CO (fancy as it sounds) to a gigantic warm house and played in the snow with my niece and sister. The night before the snowshoe race, as we were ducking the spitting snow on the way into the brewery/grille, I remembered how little I like living with the cold, and felt very over it. But the next morning, it was clear and bright and warm even - no wind and I didn't even have to wear an outer jacket along the trail. That day and the next, rolling down hills and wrestling with a tiny four-year-old bundle of energy, trying to explain weight displacement and trying (and occasionally failing) to keep her and myself from falling on our faces - then I didn't mind the cold and snow so much. Maybe it was even kind of nice. The inside bits of the weekend were spent in deep bathtubs, playing dominoes with tiny trains and loud noises, eating, drinking, eating, and watching Mythbusters. I couldn't live here, but man is it nice to visit.
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