Coulda Been A Contender

I can't say that I was glued to the television during the Olympics, but I certainly watched my share of the speed skating, snow boarding, ice hockey, skiing, bobsledding, figure skating, etc., and while I found it all very uplifting, it also reminded me how much I hate cold weather sports. I mean, there those athletes were, competing their little hearts out, working and struggling, and not only did they have to contend with the aches and pains of sore muscles and injuries, they also had to contend with the snow and ice. They had to be freezing their asses off. I couldn't even watch without a blanket around me.
I haven't always been such a lodge bunny. When I was young, I loved the snow. I couldn't wait to get out in it. My favorite time was at night when it was really cold because that's when the snow was icy and packed down hard and it was perfect for sledding. We'd build a big bonfire on the edge of the park and everyone would show up with their sleds and we would go up and down that one big hill for hours and hours. In between runs, we'd warm ourselves by the fire until our coats and gloves were smoking, then we'd be ready to go again. I wouldn't exactly call what we did a "sport". It was more like an "activity"...one that we started doing when we were nine or ten and continued doing through high school. Of course, when puberty first arrived, our gatherings became half about the sledding and half about the boy-girl-ing. By then, we would take the downhill run with our current squeezes, stop on the way back up the hill to make out behind a tree, then mosey back to the bonfire and try to look as if nothing had happened. Oh, it was very thrilling...for thirteen and fourteen year old hormone-infested nymphs. But if we could have gotten our hands on some snow skis or snow boards (a futuristic concept) back then, our hill might have become an alpine ski run and we might have become Olympic athletes...in between the make-out sessions, of course.