I'm Sick Of Winter

As usual at this time of year, I begin to suffer from the pain of too much winter weather. After a while, it just gets the best of me. It’s so omnipresent, so relentless. Day after day it’s there, waiting to pounce on me every time I leave the house. I can’t take it anymore. I’m crying uncle. I’m sick of snow, especially the dirty, icy snow that lingers forever. I’m sick of coats, scarves, gloves, hats and hat hair. I’m sick of removing layers of clothing every time I enter overly warm office buildings, commuter trains and residences. I’m sick of scraping ice off the windshields of frozen cars. I’m sick of tingly fingers. I'm sick of blowing my runny nose. I’m sick of the loud, ancient, inconsistent radiator heaters in my house. And I’m sick of enduring a blast of arctic air every time I step out of the shower.

Don’t get me wrong; winter has not been all bad. I’ve squeezed every bit of enjoyment out of the Winter Olympics. That Shaun White kid is amazing. Even Lindsay Vonn and Bodie Miller have lived up to the hype. But overall, there’s too much figure skating and not enough speed skating. I want to see dare devil athletes barreling down hill or soaring through mid-air, not prancing around a skating rink.

I’ve also enjoyed rocking the fresh gear that winter requires. I love my Nike ACG duck boots and my Ralph Lauren wool riding jacket with the matching vest. And my K-Way ski jacket was a big hit; even my 20-year-old nephew told me it was cool. But now I’m sick of it all. All the corduroy and suede, and Gortex and fleece and black and grey. And all my sweaters that seemed so cozy in November are now all worn out. They’re now too misshapen and linty and I’m sick of them. Sure, maybe I should invest in better sweaters and stop messing around with these cheap-ass Banana Republic ones. But they'd have worked out fine if winter weren't so damn long.

Sure Christmas was a blast, it was and always will be my favorite day of the year. And there was plenty more winter fun to be had. I’ve skied Beaver Creek, CO, wiped out in Eagle Rock, PA and sledded Flood Hill, South Orange, NJ. I’ve taken Gondola rides up the Vail Mountain and marveled at the Rockefeller Center Christmas Tree. I’ve gone snow tubing and raced snowmobiles and had snow ball fights. I’ve built snowmen and pushed snow blowers. I’ve even triumphed over my 7 year old in our annual backyard Snowbowl.

But enough already. No more snow. No more shoveling. The truth is, I’d trade all of the winter frolicking for one day at Virginia Beach or the Outer Banks or even the friggin’ Jersey Shore. I say March 21st can’t get here soon enough. Bring on March Madness, Easter Sunday and Opening Day at Yankee Stadium. And somebody please fire up a grill. I’d give anything for the smell of charcoal right about now. I am looking forward to one fine 80 degree day in mid-June, just before Tiger tees it up again at the US Open, and just after the Cavs beat the Lakers for the NBA championship. I guarantee you on that day, I’ll be a happy guy. I'll be wearing plaid shorts and a Carolina Blue tee (no more boring, cold-weather-appropriate navy). And my iced coffee and spanking white Stan Smith sneakers will represent all that is right in the world.

I’m sick of winter.