Thursday, 08 February 2007

• Wintry Re-Mix

  On Monday I decided to show the weather who is boss. I went to the pool, determined to move around without the constraints of a sleeping bag-like parka and boots. The pool was still closed, with the lights off, when I skipped in at 3:55 p.m, my swimcap tugging my face into a permanently interested expression. With five minutes to kill until the lifeguard came out, I stood by the water and triumphantly examined my long-forgotten knees and bare feet. 

  Then I heard a strange hissing sound, sort of like the canned breathing that comes out of a respirator or scuba tank. I looked over towards the wall, where a pair of glass double-doors led directly outside. The view revealed a snowy campus with a bunch of sleepingbags walking around. The doors were closed, but from underneath they spewed a thick blanket of fog. Having discovered what was undoubtedly Chicago's answer to Narnia, I instantly felt like Lucy from The Lion the Witch and The Wardrobe, and not the 2005 version, but the old BBC version, with the awkward, gaping-mouthed Lucy, except this time in a neon blue Nike swimsuit, goggles and matching cap.

  I slowly walked toward the doors, and with each step, the floor tiles felt colder. I stopped when I reached the edge of the fog blanket, confirming my suspicion that it was made of frigid air. From here I could see the doors more clearly, and recoiled as they appeared to be drenched in their own sweat. The hissing sound continued, and the fog poured in, music video-style, now streaming past my ankles. 
  
  I took a deep breath and tip-toed towards the doors. By now the floor felt not unlike that of a garage in December when you're forced to get a can of pop without shoes on. The temperature of the surrounding air seemed to have suddenly dropped at least 30 degrees. The door rattled and hissed as the wind blew on the other side.

  Once I was in front of the doors, teeth chattering, I saw that they were frozen shut. They were not only frozen, but covered with smooth icicles on the inside, some of them in the mysterious shape of round globs the size of party balloons. I touched one and found it to be slippery. Stepping back, I saw that the doors were indeed sweating. Sweating and refreezing. And shaking. And spewing fog. And making breathing noises.

  "Crazy, huh?" Shouted the lifeguard from the far end of the pool. I hadn't heard her come in. She startled me. "Yeah," I said, jumping defensively in the water. I huddled in the pool for the next half hour, freezing and fuming at Wintry Re-Mix for one-upping me.

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