March can be the cruelest month for a north-easterner. Technically, it's spring. The clocks have sprung forward. The lion is destined to become a lamb at any moment. Any moment now. Waiting for the lamb. The snow flakes are still floating through the air these past few days, in spite of the increase in daylight and the arrival of spring.
I've gotten back to the gym following a prolonged winter hibernation and healing process. At the end of a particularly grueling hill climb in a recent spinning class, I watched snow-laden clouds gather over the billboard that now features a car instead of shirtless Abercrombie models of months past. As the sweating masses on stationary bikes (going nowhere) anticipated cresting the imaginary hill and being rewarded with the sweet feeling of an imaginary flat road on the other side, we were instead instructed to sit down and "push through."
That is what I feel I am doing now that I am once more encased in down from head to toe. Pushing through. I'm making note of every robin, every tip of crocus leaf, every bud. I'm searching desperately for the smell of damp earth beyond the chill in the air. It must be there somewhere, just around the corner of April.
Until then, I will push through.