The end of Hibernation

35 degrees in the middle of February seems warmer than a 35 degree day in January, especially if the sun is out. Early last week it snowed in Salt Lake and the wind blew it into a rare day of drifting snow. It felt like a typical winter day in Wyoming. Towards the end of the week the sun was out, the sky blue, not obscured by smog, and bicyclists were out in flocks. I felt the urge to be out with them, to tune up my road bike, sort out my Burley trailer and repack my supplies, to continue my cross-country ride.

I bicycle during the winter under a couple of caveats: the air temperature is in the high 30s and the roads are clear of ice. Even at my most fit I am a large man. I am, or I was before I started to age, just over 6'2". Regardless of my varied weight over time I am just about two feet wide at the shoulders. That's a lot of wind resistance. Of course the good side of this body shape is that it reduces my speed and therefore, the wind chill is less for me than for someone 50 pounds lighter and narrower at the shoulders. But winter riding is still chilly.

In the fall, as day length shrinks in increments that have measurable daily definition, I start to feel what is called Seasonal Adjusted Disorder or more appropriately shortened to SAD. It is one more disorder in a long list that my therapist tells me I have.
But I think that the onset of SAD, a reaction to shrinking day-length, is less about science and more about primordial responses. About 70% (give or take a few percentage points depending on the study) of our reactions/responses come out of the reptilian part of our brain where fight or flight lurk just waiting impatiently to ruin our day. The cognitive part of our brain just thinks it's in charge. I tried to explain my primordial theory to my therapist. I told him that in the fall I start feeling an out of control hunger and find myself doing things I didn't remember starting. I was seen wading in the creek behind my house. After, in a more cognitive moment I realized I was trying to find fish, just like a grizzly. I told my therapist that I am, like the bear,trying to build up my fat reserves to enter hibernation. He was silent for longer than usual and then told me, in a neutral voice, that there were medications for this. Because one of my other issues is allegedly Oppositional Defiance Disorder (ODD), I declined to fill the prescription and furthermore I didn't pay him for the session.

Instead, I've found that basking in the sun of deep winter (inside the house of course) makes me feel better. I stand in front of a large window and slowly rotate so all sides of my body have equal opportunity. I've been told I resemble a large lizard basking in a southern Utah morning. But on those rare smog-free days of a typical Salt Lake winter,when the roads are ice free, I like to ride to a coffee shop or the grocery store, do chores, go to meetings on my bicycle.

All of the symptoms and coping mechanisms listed above occurred this winter except for the bicycle riding.  I didn't ride because I got two new hip joints last November. I'm now a cyborg. As a sidebar, it complicates my desire for cremation, but that is for a later posting. Yesterday, while I was walking my new dog, bicyclists were out in flocks. I felt envy and jealousy, which before I left religion behind, were two of my most common sins. My surgeon strongly suggested that I should wait at least six months before I started riding the streets again.But he recognized my ODD and shrugged.
"Your choice," he said. "But if you push it and fall over before the hip prostheses have merged with the bone, the next surgery will not go as well." 
I grudgingly gave in. But when I saw bicyclists out in numbers yesterday and today I had to bite my lip. I came home and put my bike on the rack and started to tune it. I think I'm almost ready to come out of hibernation. A hibernating bear comes out of its den famished. I'm hungry to ride.