Some good friends of mine have encouraged me to join their club. They shoot skeet on weekends. The season is November to April, so it is the mirror image of the golf season. I would be kept out of trouble 12 months a year. Tomorrow I’m booked in with these fellows for 9 o’clock.
My problem is that the forecast is for -22 degrees C. And there is that evil little afterthought, “feels like 30 below”. The wind will be howling out of the northwest at 40 KPH. For a novice shooter like me, the wind might as well be 400 KPH. Those little clay pigeons will be dancing so fast that the only way I’ll hit one is if it gets blown into the path of a bad shot.
I should cancel.
Here is the problem. I don’t want to blink first. I know they don’t want to go either but none of us wants to be the ‘wimp’ who backs out because of a little cold weather and wind.
I know where my reluctance comes from. Older brothers and a family culture of not complaining about minor things like frostbite. My grandmother was born in a one room cabin between Huntsville and North Bay. No electricity, no running water. I can’t go out in the woods for a couple of hours? Unthinkable. My latte may not be perfect and my iPhone may not get good reception. Wow, some list of hardships.
So I’ll bundle up and go without complaint trying to prove that my generation is as tough as my pioneer ancestors.
That latte better be hot.
Scott D Wooder, MD