I’m not proud of this, but I shoveled the front walk yesterday. I went to the garage, found the snow shovel we keep around in case we’re driving interstate in the winter, and I showed off. I dug out our stoop. I dug out our steps. I dug out the sidewalk. I dug out the part of the driveway that’s paved. Everything cement on our duplex’s property, I cleared of snow.
Of course, this might not have been necessary. Unlike back home, the snow and ice here will likely melt before it’s advisable to walk outside again. But some habits are bred into the brain, I guess, and so there I was, huffing and puffing and remembering my dad’s friend who had a heart attack shoveling wet snow one time (and is thankfully ok now).
Here’s what I learned:
I’m not in great shape.
As you might imagine, this particular NIT blogger is not at his fittest. Ten pounds up since October, and in October I still wasn’t at my fighting weight (the weight at which I would offer to fight an anthropomorphized NCAA). Went for a few runs last week, but all of them were difficult and none of them should have been difficult. I haven’t done a pushup in months.
Also, the snow was wet. And a little crusty in some places. Not an easy shovel.
Shoveling in Austin can encourage others to shovel, and you might not want that.
There’s a nice middle-aged guy down the street. I think he lives alone. He likes to chat when we see each other, but we don’t see each other often. We talked a bit yesterday (a welcome respite from my reminder of my lack of physical strength), and he said, “Well, I guess I have a shovel. Maybe I should shovel myself out,” at which point I had visions of an ambulance slipping and sliding its way up the block to the poor guy, who would then be stretchered away, because if I, an only mildly overweight guy in his 20’s, was struggling to shovel this with an actual snow shovel, I did not want to see what happened if this man took his garden spade out to try to clear a bunch of snow.
Thankfully, I talked him out of it. Told him about heart attacks.
Shoveling in Austin gets you high off your own power.
First scoop, there I was, having aspirations of shoveling out the whole block. Becoming a neighborhood hero. Receiving friendly waves through the windows.
Didn’t happen, of course (the weak and out of shape thing). But man. Those endorphins get to you.
Shoveling in Austin makes you a curiosity.
I have sat on my front stoop in a chicken suit and not met as many neighbors as I met yesterday. Which actually makes more sense now that I think about it. Because of the chicken suit. But still. Everyone wants to talk to the guy with the shovel. I think this is a universal phenomenon. If you are shoveling anything, people will stop to talk to you—perhaps to ask you why you are shoveling, though in my case, that was already clear. Anyway, some new friends. Maybe they’ll learn about this website one day and become NIT fans. Maybe this block of Central Austin will become a hive of rabid NIT supporters. Maybe my shoveling really will save the neighborhood.
Uh oh.
Better go.
I’m having those aspirations again.
