As a kid, I never remember being cold and I loved to be outside for hours sliding down our sidewalk, having snowball fights, building snowmen, sledding, and catching snowflakes on my tongue. But as I grew older I found myself tolerating the cold more than enjoying it. Looking back over my life, I find I have some memories of being so miserably cold I wanted to get them written down. So here I go.
Back in college, my girlfriend lived six blocks from my parents’ house and one winter’s night found the outside temperature about 20 degrees below zero with a stiff wind to boot. I wanted to visit my girlfriend that night and knew better than to start my Opel Kadett in that cold. I bundled up as best I could and trudged through the snow and wind in what seemed to take forever. It was the first time in my life I realized that this type of cold could kill you, and after a couple of blocks, I knew I had to make a potentially life-and-death decision on whether to turn back or forage on. I decided to continue, and when I stepped into her house, I realized I’d never loved warmth more than that. I know I walked back home a few hours later, but I don’t remember the trip back having quite the suspense.
The only frozen memory not related to the weather was passing my first kidney stone. I left for work that morning knowing something was off and an hour later I was driven to Miami Valley Hospital doubled over in pain, not knowing the source. As the doctors tried to determine what was going on, I lay on a table alternating between freezing and sweating. When I was cold, I shook uncontrollably as they layered blankets on top of me to try to warm me up, which never did the job. Minutes later I was sweating profusely and they took the blankets off to cool me down. All that sweat contributed to the next cycle of freezing, making it even worse. It’s a miracle I didn’t break a tooth, that’s how hard my teeth were chattering. When the stone finally passed, so did the pain and the temperature swings, and putting that freezing behind me was most appreciated.
I’ve run a lot of miles in my life, about enough to circle the equator twice, and there were times I just wasn’t smart enough to stay inside. The first extreme cold experience was running with my buddy Jim. This particular day was bitterly cold, snowy, and windy. We took off from the YMCA and headed north on the west side of the Great Miami River bike trail towards Helena Street. There was nobody to be seen, not even driving cars, it was so nasty outside. It turned bitterly cold when we started back south on the east side of the river with the wind blowing so hard it would knock our ankles together, a painful collision of bone on bone. By the time we finally made it back to the YMCA, Jim’s mustache was solid white. Fortunately for us, a trip to the steam room warmed us back up.
Back when I was dating Elaine, I convinced her to run with me on the Great Miami River bike trail on a day with single-digit temperatures and 20-mile-per-hour winds. I told her the first half-mile would be cold but our bodies would warm up after that and we would be comfortable. Perhaps it was blind love and wanting to spend time together that made us ignore just how nasty the weather was. After that first half-mile, we were still freezing cold but persisted for another mile before heading back to the car. By the time that run was done, our eyes, ears, lungs, feet, and about everything else were frozen. It’s a miracle we didn’t have frostbite. She thought I was hazing her and this was a test to see if she was worthy to marry. It wasn’t, but she was, and to this day I count my blessings she didn’t dump me over this.
We’ve been to more football games than we can count and we’re greeted with splendid weather for most games, particularly in September and October. But as the following four brutal memories over ten years will demonstrate, no game is exempt from Mother Nature’s ice-cold grip.
We attended a Ball State Cardinals versus Miami Redhawks football game in Oxford, Ohio back on November 23, 2012, a unique game because Elaine’s sons were either coaching or on the football staff of each college, and one game we couldn’t miss. Like many late-season football games, this was a frigid affair and we bundled as best we could against the brutal cold. Late in the game, there was a chance it could go into overtime and that was flat-out scary. Fortunately, that did not happen (Ball State won) and we didn’t have to choose a fight (stay in our seats) or flight (run to our car) scenario. At the end of the game, it took about 15-20 minutes for the coaches to be available to chat for a moment, and we headed inside to get out of the wind and try to warm up a little. That didn’t work, but we found a room where we could completely get out of the wind and waited, still freezing. They finally showed up and after a nice chat, we made the hour drive back home, the heater blasting at its highest setting. That helped some, but we were still shivering when we got home, but a half-hour in the hot tub finally vanquished the chills.
Ball State’s schedule in 2014 included an October 2nd game at West Point, New York to play the Army Black Knights. The call went out to Elaine’s family to see who would like tickets and about thirty people decided to join us. We flew into Stewart International Airport on Friday, grabbed our rental car, checked into our hotel, and spent a couple of hours on the most beautiful, sunny, mid-70s afternoon driving through the beautiful West Point campus. But by the time the game started on Saturday, it was miserable, rainy, and cold. We all had ponchos to attempt to keep us dry, but as the game progressed, we all got wetter and colder. By halftime, over half of our group had left the misery for the Newburgh Brewing Company where we had a room for our group. We lost more folks as the game moved into the fourth quarter and it looked more and more like Ball State would lose the game, which they did, 33-24. By the end, only three of us remained. Elaine’s 88-year-old mother Marge stayed to the bitter end because she wanted to talk to her grandson no matter what. Of course, Elaine stayed with her mother and I stayed because I’m not stupid. But after a couple of beers in the warm confines of the Newburgh Brewing Company, we put the loss and the chills behind us.
Of these stories, the least miserable was the October 26, 2019 game in Valparaiso, Indiana when the home team Crusaders played the Stetson Hatters. It took us longer to get to northern Indiana than expected, and we didn’t get to the stadium until the end of the first quarter. We had tickets waiting for us at Will Call, but the workers abandoned their post by then to seek a warmer climate. We had to walk up to the attendant at the gate to explain the situation, and surprisingly, he let us into the stadium without tickets. A guess he figured if we were nuts enough to want to watch the game in those conditions, we were likely telling the truth or simply felt sorry for us. We cheered our team to a 19-10 victory, the only win of Valpo’s season. It probably helped that Stetson is located in Deland, Florida, and ill-prepared for the wintry game that hit them in the face.
You would think by now we would have learned to avoid late-season football games. Still, when Elaine’s son’s Duke Blue Devils came to play the Pittsburgh Panthers (her family is from the ‘Burgh) on November 19, 2022, we decided to take the chance, and again, we got burned (actually quite the opposite). We were again flanked by many family members on a sunny day with 30-degree temperatures and a wicked, bone-chilling 15-mile-per-hour wind that swirled through Acrisure Stadium. I was so happy when halftime came so I could huddle inside the stadium and feel my toes again. The second half was worse, concluding with Duke losing a close game by the score of 28-26.
