Workday (Frown)

The party is over. I went to the office today. Before I left I got in one more short snow shoveling session. I needed 15 minutes to clear away the snow that an overnight plow had put in the way of Mrs. RC’s car. Overnight plows are sneaky. We should set traps for them. (Would it roar or squeal when the trap snapped shut? We may never know.)

The drive to and from work was a breeze. With every school shut and the rest of the federal government closed, the roads were all mine. Most of them were anyway. About 1/3rd of the usable road space was either unplowed or occupied by massive piles of plowed snow. It looked like most of the sidewalks in Old Town were unplowed. And nearly every crosswalk was obstructed by mass quantities of plowage.  Smallish people were actually being given a hand up to get over the snowbank in front of my office building.

I grew up in Albany and lived in Boston and Providence. I am used to this sort of thing. It’s one of the many reasons I moved south. When you have to go to work, snowstorms in the city are a pain in the ass. They are a blast on snowdays though. Except when the snowdays last over a week. This happened when I lived in Boston in 1978. Cabin fever can drive you mad. My friends say this explains a lot about me.

Nowadays many people can telework but back in the days of computer punch cards this was not an option.  A friend of mine recently moved to DC. She was scheduled to start a new job on Monday. I felt bad for her but she told me that her new employer let her telework. On her first day. Dang.

The weather has kept her from moving to her new apartment though. She freelances as a certified massage therapist.  Too bad she can’t get around town. She could make a fortune giving massages to snow shovelers like me.

Just two days after the snow stopped falling, temperatures rose into the 50s. When I got home, the snow cover was about one foot lower than yesterday. It looked like someone had pulled the plug and let the air out of a big white air mattress.

I will continue to drive to work for the time being. The main reason is that the National Park Service refuses to plow and treat the Mount Vernon Trail. I don’t blame them. They are part of the Interior Department and starved for funds. It’s funny how the Park Service does an excellent job of clearing storm debris after big non-winter storms, but punts when it snows.

This shortcoming of the Park Service has enraged Lizbon Gravity, who is apparently new to commuting on the MVT. She recently started following me on Twitter. Good luck LG, whoever you are.  Oh, and by the way, if you follow me, you’ll probably get lost. But, as Lewis Carroll once said, if you don’t know where you’re going, any road will take you there.


The government agency where I work usually operates when the rest of the federal government does not so I rarely get a snow day. Today, I got one. Yay me!

There was a power outage at work and the computer system crashed and there was no way for most people to get there so they just said “Fuggit. We’re closed.”

Works for me.

I set my alarm during the day on Sunday and forgot to unset it.

BEEP BEEP. 6 am you are so cruel.

I went back to sleep.

After waking I did my daily morning routine of back exercises and meditation. During the last three days, Mrs. RC and I shoveled out our neighbor’s driveway so we could park three of our cars there. (Two belong to our kids who are overseas. My wife drives her 12 year old Accord to work. My car is a driveway ornament.) A humongous pick up truck came and parked in the driveway. Oops. Later it was joined by an SUV. The drivers were remodeling the house. So I needed to make curb space to get our cars out of their way.

The snow plows had made a hard bank of snow about the width of a car on my side of the street. The bank was well over two feet deep. One shovel at a time, I cleared enough space for my kids’s subcompact cars. This took two hours. How the hell did I, a sixty year old, do this on top of about 9 hours of shoveling over the last three days?

Nice day for a shovelfest, no?

I attribute my shoveling survival to two things. My back didn’t go out. And my heart kept pumping without red lining.

My back benefited from three exercises that I added to to my morning routine. Two are versions of a side plank. In one version, I hold myself up with one stiff arm to the floor while the other arm reaches for the ceiling. My trunk is perpendicular to the floor. I am careful not to mess up my shoulder muscles when I am doing this. I just stay in that position until it starts to become uncomfortable then I switch sides.

For the other version, I am in the same position but supporting myself on my forearm. I then dip my hip to the floor and raise it. Over and over. As I do this. I move my free arm down to the floor with my hip and point it up to the ceiling as my hip moves up. I do one set of ten dips on each side.

These exercises have given my lower back lateral stability. I learned these from my physical therapy sessions last winter but I am certain that these, like most PT exercises, is a variation on a yoga asana.

The third exercise is a bird dog. Again this is a PT exercise that is stolen from yoga. On your hands and knees reach one arm out and the opposite leg back. Tighten your belly. Hold it. You can sense your lower back decompressing. It really feels great. I do ten of these on each side.

(Yes, I know. I have said I hate yoga many times in the past. What I don’t like about it is the dedicated time commitment and the routine. I do yoga asanas for very specific purposes. The thought of doing yoga continuously for an hour makes me want to run screaming down the street.)

In the past, I only did crunches and similar exercises for my abdominal muscles. This was great until I twisted my torso under load. Then my back would go out. Twisting under load is what you do when batting in baseball, bowling, golfing, and shoveling snow. It is bad news for someone like me who has had a disc removed from his lower back.

My other survival strategy is riding a bike. (Running does the same thing. Actually better but my knees won’t go there anymore.) Once I get warmed up, my heart rate stabilizes and I can ride for hours at a conversational pace. The same holds for shoveling. In all those hours of shoveling I never once felt my heart racing. I just kept chugging along like I was riding my bike to work. The snow will be moved eventually. Just keep shoveling. Wax on. Wax off. Go with the flow.

According to my friend Rachel, who only cusses during snow crises, I shoveled several fucktons of snow this weekend. (Yes, I know at least two area women with masters degrees who use the term “fuckton.” Reason number 2,120 why I love DC.) My shoulders, neck and upper arms are sore. My lower back is fine. My lower arms are in good enough shape to fill and empty several glasses of Cabernet Sauvignon. Three ounce curls are therapeutic.

After my shoveling session, I finally put on my snowshoes and set about playing in the snow. This lasted for all of a quarter mile. The snow was not compacted enough to support my weight even on snowshoes. I kept sinking nearly a foot into the snow. My heart was racing as I powered my way forward. I fell twice, once when my shoe caught on something. Another time a snowshoe came off leaving me wallowing around in a snowbank like Tian Tian. Tian Tian looks cute. Me. not so much.

The bunnies were doing much better than me

So I headed for home. Time to have a glass of wine and call it a day.


Once More with Feeling

The storm is over. Another several inches of snow fell overnight. And there was some drifting. So out I went into the powder. This time the snow was easy to move with a regular shovel. The only problem was that the snowbanks made over the last two days meant that each shovelful had to be heaved high and far. I resorted to the over the shoulder snow toss.

With Mrs. Rootchopper focusing on freeing the cars (this is NOT what I normally mean by “carfree”, by the way). I went to work on busting through the mess that the snow plows made at the end of the driveways.

Our neighbor Jay once again brought his snowplow into the fray, clearing our sidewalk and blasting through a chunk of the obstruction at the driveway across the street where most of our automotive fleet was entombed in the snow.

Three hours of this and I was done. Finished. My arms and shoulders are in a world of hurt. I have to admit it was fun in a masochistic sort of way. My only complaint is that I am too tired to go snowshoeing.

So I will settle for watching freakishly huge men concuss each other over a vaguely ovoid ball. Go Pats!



Snowzilla Strikes Back

I woke up late, around 8:00. It was still snowing outside just as it did when I went to sleep. Icicles hung from the eaves all around the house. A look outside and it was clear that a foot of snow had fallen since I shoveled yesterday.

After breakfast I headed out into the storm. There was so much snow and the snow banks were so high that my wovel became useless. I had to resort to a conventional snow shovel. My neighbor came by with his snow blower and cleared a path through the sidewalk and out to the street. Thanks, Jay.

Dig. Heave. Dig. Heave. On and on. Occasionally, I could use the wovel and did. But the snow was heavy and my triceps were tired from yesterday.

After clearing our driveway with some help from expert car excavator Mrs. RC, I headed across the street to liberate the other three cars in our fleet. The street hadn’t been plowed in hours. To make matters worse, the plow only did 2/3rds of the street. This meant I had to shovel snow to get to the neighbors driveway. How much snow? My friend Rachel said it was many fucktons. She is quantitatively astute.

Mrs. RC worked on clearing the snow off the cars. I went to work with the wovel on the obstructed driveway.

Dig. Heave. Dig. Heave.

Four hours later we were done.

All I wanted was baked goods and a massage. Alas, my baking friend and my massage friend are 20 miles and several thousand fucktons of snow away.

Of course, over the four hours, another inch of snow had fallen. We clear that, fed the birds, and headed indoors.

Everybody part hurts. Somehow.

I am spent.

Outside the storm has intensified again. White outs are happening. Winds are howling.

I have to go back out there in a couple of hours.


Snowzilla Meets the Wovel

It was a dark and stormy night….

Several inches of snow had already fallen. Darkness came. So did more snow. We ate dinner. Then I went out into the storm.

The wind was calm. Then gusting. Then calm. Over and over.

The wovel went to work. We moved our cars to a vacant driveway across the street before the start of the storm. This allowed the road crew to plow the street IMG-20140303-00553almost to  the curb on our side of the street. All I had to do was move 6 inches of the stuff packed against the curb. Not easy. A neighbor had helpfully used his snow blower to clear the sidewalk. He blew the snow onto the strip between the sidewalk and the curb. There was nowhere to put the snow packed against the curb. The wovel made it easy to wheel it across the street.

The wovel is a giant shovel pan on a long stem. The stem runs over an axle attached to a huge wheel. This arrangement allows you to use leverage to lift the snow. The pivot point on the wheel means you push down on the handle instead of lifting up. This makes it easy to move tons of snow. It is a pretty damned good triceps workout but your back is spared stress.

But it looks dorky. So does my recumbent. I can tell you from past experience that nothing looks dorkier than a man holding on to a streetlamp because his back gave out after surgery. Been there. Done that. Science!

I excavated the cars, three across the street and one in our driveway. By the time I was done another couple of inches had fallen where I had started. Jane, stop this crazy thing!!!

I surrendered to the storm. I check out my Chia Werth. He was positioned next to the downspout. Unfortunately he was under an eave so he didn’t get the full effect of the storm. Still, it looks like the hole in his head (just like the real ballplayer!) was almost under the snow.


After about 90 minutes, I declared the wovel the victor and headed inside for a shower beer. I had hoped for a Fat Shovel beer but settled for a Fat Tire.

Tomorrow: MOTS (More of the Same). I’d like to do some snowshoeing but I’ll be whipped from another woveling session. Snowshoeing might have to wait until Sunday,