Forced Hibernation at Forty Degrees

I walked out into the garden for a much needed ramble yesterday, only to be confronted by the fact that I was...cold.  The temperature was probably about 40 degrees, several degrees colder than it had been two days before when I planted the last of the narcissus bulbs.  It was cold then, but I persevered at the time, knowing it was my last chance to dance with these late arrivals  (As usual, couldn't resist a sale).  But yesterday, I couldn't ignore the fact that my nasal passages hurt, my fingers and toes were getting numb despite the gloves and socks and pockets and boots, my eyes were tearing and a creeping cold was descending on my shoulders.  Rats!  I am no longer as hardy as my hosta and hydrangeas!

I had the nerve to scoff at a fellow gardener who admitted last winter that they couldn't go outside when the weather got to a certain chill...now here I am with the same horrible realization...

I contemplate that perhaps I've just gotten too soft.  I'm not out there every day for several hours weeding, raking, digging, planting, turning compost.  I've simply lost my thick skin.  Nope...the temperature is definitely the key factor.  This body simply will stall at 40 degrees.  I read last year's journal, and sure enough, at 40 degrees, I was cursing the turn of weather that forced me to leave off my uncompleted chores. Surely, in my youth (extended by sheer stubbornness well into upper middle age, depending on how you measure these things) I was more resilient...my body could warm up faster, go farther, and recharge on a bottle of water or an apple.  Not now, old girl.  You need a warm rubdown, a long soak in a sudsy tub, and an hour or two with joint pain tea.

Will I accept this turn of events?  Definitely not.  What can I do about it?  Continue to challenge the systemic indicators...turn up the dials...batten down the hatches...find new ways to "harden off"  (not the veins!).  The first challenge is to keep active and strong without the warmer weather environment.

Replacing all that weeding, raking and digging with other forms of exercise is incredibly difficult for me it turns out.  The health club with the beautiful and the buff is out of the question.  My saggy baggy old Nike fleece sweatpants disguising my cellulite and spider veins are inappropriate attire, for one.  I find the exercise bike in the garage tearfully boring (I miss the birdsong, the breeze in the trees, the walks from one side of the garden to the other to retrieve a tool...the sheer sense of accomplishment when the Long Bed is nicely mulched.).  Walking around the neighborhood in the rain all swathed in scarves and earmuffs and gloves and swishy fleece-lined pants like the abominable snowman holds no charm either.  (Maybe in February when the bulbs in my neighbor's gardens start to emerge).  What to do?