In keeping with my newfound motivation to lose 25 pounds by June 30th, I have been exercising for 30 minutes, four days a week [which is laughable compared to the effort most people put forth, but it’s 100% more exercise than I got last year]. Yesterday evening I was in the kitchen working on dinner, when I realised I hadn’t yet done anything that could be rationalised even remotely as exercise {because you know most days I make the hike from my car to campus and consider myself golden}.

I got my loaf of bread in the oven, peered out the window and beheld the most vivid red sunset I’d seen in Canada to date.  It looked so peaceful out there, and reminded me so much of home, that I decided I’d have a brisk, heart-pumping walk through the snow for my day’s workout.

Note: this is not the sunset I saw.  This is just proof that it’s cold up here.

I checked the temperature and was pleasantly surprised that it wasn’t too cold, so I grabbed a jacket, gloves and my iPod™, and made my way outside.

A few minutes into my walk, I came to a realisation so startling I actually stopped in my tracks:

When I had checked the temperature back at the house, the thermometer read 32 degrees.  Freezing.  And I was excited that it wasn’t very cold. Because, y’know, freezing is such a nice, balmy temperature.

Which leads me to my next conclusion:

I am certifiably more Canadian than I ever thought I could become; I might as well apply for dual citizenship instead of merely residency, at the rate I’m going.  Next thing I know, I’ll be calling beanies “toques” and sofas “chesterfields.”

Freezing, balmy…  Gimme a break.

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