So as you all may know, we Philadelphians got a little bit of snow this weekend. The city was beautiful yesterday, and I spent the majority of my day snuggling in bed in between drinking $5 beer-itas at Black Sheep (247 South 17th Street) and later more delicious margaritas from Amanda at Jet Wine Bar (1525 South Street). It was glorious, I tell ya.
But even before this beautiful Saturday . . . as I parked by car on the street Friday after work . . . I was already dreading it: digging the damn thing back out. I knew (from winters past) if we got any amount of snow, digging my car out for work on Monday would be a straight up struggle. If I’m being honest, I was prepared . . . a few years ago, after using (and literally I am not kidding here) my SWIFFER to clear my car off after a snow storm, I invested in a few necessities like a small shovel and an extended car brush, because, I am 5’2, after all. But that doesn’t mean I wanted to do it.
Yesterday, in my tequila-induced glow, I wandered by my car, just to take a peek. I was immediately sobered: it was buried. I feebly attempted (wearing tight jeans and a cross body bag) to clear some of it off to get to the trunk, quickly realizing I would simply ask my boyfriend to help later and things would be fine. And while I did later ask my boyfriend for help, he works brunch, and an 8am wakeup to get started digging was simply not in the cards this morning. Thank you, tequila.
Around noon, I went to Flywheel (1521 Locust Street) and rode over 21 miles and burnt ~800 calories (after getting told by Jesse, one of my favs, that I better make my super long water break worth it on our next sprint). I got a coffee. I walked by my car, and I decided I would try and make some progress, solo.
Dig. Dig. Dig. I tried to get low, my high school lacrosse ground ball pick-up form channeling through my head. I cleared a decent part of the back, moving over to the street side. I was doing okay; my biggest issue ended up being, if not the clean sidewalk and clear street, where the heck do I even put this snow after I shovel it? As I got further away from my chosen snow pile, I was required to carry each heavy shovelful longer and longer as I walked it back. My arms were on fire. After about 20 minutes, a man with a shovel passed and asked if I needed help. I told him I was okay, and he jokingly asked “Where’s your boyfriend?” I told him the truth, and he replied: “he better have a good excuse, or I’d be cussing him off right along with you!”
But, I’m not cussing him out, I thought. I am literally doing this on my own, with each and every dig, getting closer and closer to something I’d only seem grown men doing so far that day. It was then that I decided I’d be finishing digging out my car on my own, and after one hour of straight shoveling and a whole lotta sweat, I finished.
At the risk of this sounding completely cheesy, completing this self-assigned project (after I finished a 45 minute spin class, mind you), was a really freakin proud moment for me. I’ve achieved a lot of things I didn’t know I was capable of as an adult, but until this afternoon, I don’t think I realized what a strong and independent woman I had become. Yes, I have my boyfriend and my friends and my family to support me when I need it, but I can also do things on my own. And that feels really, really good.
So my advice to you ladies, on this Sunday afternoon, is: if your car is still buried out there in the city of brotherly love, get out there and try digging it out yourself. You may be surprised at how powerful you can be. xx