waconner

The embers of summer have dimmed and the grip of winter has returned.

Once again comes the suffering. My muscles will be sore, hard, lean and determined.

The biting cold is like an unrelenting monster who plods behind me nipping at my heels.

I fashion a smile to comfort myself. I hold my body to keep my shivering frame warm. I hold my head up, and drive against the cascading frigid flakes.

90 more days until the rebirth of boy inside the man. 90 more days before I can shed this tough, thick winter skin. 90 days before I can bathe anew in the light of the spring.