We had a hot tub in the house we moved from in 2005. It fit eight people and we used it regularly as a family. When winter rolled around, my husband Clarence liked to take what he called, 'a Swedish.' By this he meant that he was going to run naked around our back yard. Only at night, of course.
Now, we had no neighbors behind us because we lived by the bush. (That's a forest to you non-northerners.) But we had neighbors on each side, and I worried they'd spot him dashing around. 'It's dark out!' he'd say. 'No one can see me!' He also applied this logic to the times when he'd forgotten something in the living room and ran quickly while naked. 'I was fast,' he'd say. 'No one saw me.'
'Every car driving by saw you,' I'd say. He'd just shrug.
Needless to say, I never bothered with the Swedish myself. That is until a few days ago, when I had a head cold, (the one sweeping across Canada.) I'd been sitting in our steamshower (no hot tub in this house) until I couldn't take another moment—it gets really hot in there—and as I stood in the bathroom wrapped in a towel, I had a thought.
What if Clarence was right? What if all I needed was a good Swedish? That hot-to-cold moment that shocks your body and lets the healing begin? I wouldn't even have to run through my backyard, because I have an attached garage.
I put on some socks and leather slippers, tightened the towel around myself and headed for the garage. It felt wonderful out there! I inhaled deeply, letting the frigid air enter my sinus cavity and chest. I stayed out as long as I could...maybe four minutes. I took a photo of myself and sent it to my kids, saying, "I'm having a Swedish in the garage! Your dad would be so proud!"
Then, as the cold began to seep into my bones, I'd had enough. I pressed on the door handle, but it didn't give. I'd forgotten to unlock it before I went out. No problem. I quickly punched in the code. Nothing happened. I tried it again. Still nothing. It had worked just the day before, but overnight, the batteries had died.
Dear reader, I'm sure you can imagine the panic filling my brain as I stood there shivering. My back door is inaccessible in the winter. That left only the front door, the one facing the street, where buses run every half hour and cars drive by, and people go walking. It was around ten in the morning, and cold. Very cold.
I pushed the back garage door open, and stepped onto the sidewalk. My first steps were safe ones, then I almost wiped out on some ice hiding under a skiff of snow. I laughed hysterically but caught myself by grabbing onto a drainpipe.
It was time to run across the front of my house and up the stairs. I looked around and tried to time it so no cars were passing. Then a horrible thought landed.
What if it didn't work? What if my front door keypad batteries were also dead? I pictured myself hailing down a passing car. "Can I have a ride to my friend's house? I'm locked out!' The neighbors next to me were out that morning, and I didn't have the nerve to knock on the door of the bachelor down the street, or the fortitude to make it down the Queen Street hill and scurry down another block to my friend, Gaye's house. I mean, what if she wasn't even home? And what good was my phone? By the time the 911 people got there I'd probably be dead from the cold.
In a panic, I rushed up to my front door, my head swiveling in every direction like that little girl in the Exorcist, and quickly tapped in the code. It worked! I rushed into my warm house and headed for the steamshower to warm up. I remembered to text my kids to say I was okay.
These are the 'It's a Wonderful Life' moments. The ones where everything turns out. I'd had a Swedish, and I didn't die. And as far as I know, nobody saw me. Will I do this again at some point? Maybe. But I'll change the batteries first, and make sure it's not so cold out. I mean, as it was, I could have suffered the most terrifying end, ever: Death by Embarrassment. Fortunately, all is well. So Happy New Year to all of you. Stay warm, and remember to think things through. Because you don't want to end up outside your house dressed in a towel in the middle of winter. I mean, who does that?
