In winter, thoughts turn to...

“You’re wearing that?” How many guys have heard that, how many times?

“That would appear to be the case.”

“You look like you’re going on an arctic expedition, not to a dinner party.”

“It’s going down to single digits. This is an arctic expedition.”

“Everyone will be dressed up. Well, dressy casual.”

“They’ll be cold and looking at someone dressed like me. I’ll be warm and looking at attractive dinner attire. I like my position.”

She shrugs and I help her into her stylish, albeit thin coat. We go outside and she lets out a yip. That’ll teach ya.

I start the car and she immediately turns on the seat heater on her side. Or, as she fondly refers to it, the “bun warmer.” We reverse roles on this, another repeated topic of debate. She loves this device. To her, it’s a bun warmer. To me, it’s a nut roaster.

Having cocktails, Ken is regaling me with his latest exploits on the squash court. He tends to punctuate his stories with hand gestures, and is sloshing around his wine. He’s really into a tale of his latest triumph, but can’t seem to keep his eyes off my pants. “Those are…”

“Ski pants.”

“Oh. I suppose they are warm.”

“And, they repel merlot.” Also, vomit, urine and blood, which is why I wear them to work.

Next morning, I’m standing in my driveway. I came out to go somewhere in my car, but my eye is caught by some birds.

My neighbor comes out to get his newspaper. “What the hell are you doing?”

“Watching those cardinals.”

“Are you crazy? It’s five degrees!” I’m in a parka and he’s wearing a bathrobe.

When we think of innovation and progress, many look at communications, transportation or medicine. I think of clothing. Of course, I’m outside a lot.

I can remember the first time being cold. Really cold.

Philadelphia isn’t one of the northern-most cities, but it gets cold enough in winter. Junior high football was played on Friday afternoons, so it wasn’t so bad. Senior high was a different story.

It wasn’t just that the time frame shifted to evenings. Somewhere along the line, it had been decided that dominant teams shouldn’t just sit in their own backyards and beat up on the lesser fry. A league should be created to pit them against each other, regardless of travel distance.

So, our Friday night forays ventured beyond the relative protection of a city in a southern corner of the state, into the foothills of the Pocono and Allegheny Mountains. That was cold. Or, PFC, as we used to say. P was for “pretty” and C was for “cold.”

The worst I remember wasn’t the coldest, from an air temperature standpoint. We were playing one of the Allentown teams. It had snowed the night before. Daytime brought brilliant sunlight. The temperature was dropping back down rapidly as we prepared to play, but the field was a sea of wet slush. You were soaked from the first play, and definitely PFC. It was brutal.

The following year, I was a senior and we were facing a very cold game. The coach stood in front of us at practice and dangled a garment in front of our puzzled faces. “I suggest you go out and get one of these.”

A leotard? For football players? The team broke out laughing. Except for me and some of the other veterans of the Allentown game. I would’ve worn a spaghetti strap gown if I thought it would’ve made a difference.

Kicking plays were one of my favorite parts of the game. I always volunteered for special teams. Getting a half-field running start and making a hit at full stride…man, it doesn’t get any better than that.

Except, when it’s frigid. You come to understand the meaning of “bone jarring.” I gladly went out and bought a leotard. Hid it from my father, though. An old boxer, he already thought football plays were sissies. “Christ, almighty. Ya hafta wear all those pads and a helmet ta bump inta each other? I’ll bet you guys squat to take a pee.”

Fast forward a decade and I’m getting into backpacking, canoeing and other outdoor stuff. Your life can depend on effective insulation, especially if water is involved. The choices were wool, wool or wool.

Well, you could buy a neoprene diving suit, but they were pretty expensive at the time. Most of us haunted the army navy stores, buying up used Dutch combat pants, British commando sweaters, etc.

The stuff was bulky, itchy, heavy, stiff and smelled like dead goat when it was wet. But, it was warm. Even when wet.

Or, that was the theory. One blustery November day, I had the opportunity to test it. I wiped out, paddling my canoe down a rapid on Paint Creek. I was wearing layers of wool, but the cold water hit me like a taser.

I had a long swim and it didn’t seem to warm up. It didn’t feel much better on shore. The wind causes evaporation, which chills. But, even dry, I never thought that wool was the ultimate protection in cold weather.

A couple decades later, I’m watching the birds in comfort. Polypro underwear and socks. Thinsulate in the boots and parka. The parka and pants have wind-block shells. Under the coat, I’m wearing a hoodie that used to be marketed by The North Face. It may be the warmest thing I’ve ever worn.

I wouldn’t have paid full price when they were producing them. But, I stumbled across this one in a clearance sale. The first time I donned it was when the sun was dipping during a late winter kayak camping trip. Oh yeah. That works.

So, this morning it’s five degrees out, but I’m warm, have freedom of movement and don’t itch. That’s progress.