I decided not to shovel on that Friday night of the 2024 NoMI Snowpocalypse.
Going out there would have been fighting a losing battle. And it was a battle that didn’t need to be fought yet. Plus, I figured I might as well let Mother Nature get in a few haymakers and roundhouse kicks to the side of the head before picking myself up, dusting my car off and digging out.
Honestly, I was just glad I had made it back to my house that night without sliding off into a ditch somewhere on my route back from Centre Ice Arena.
I’d decided to brave the elements and make the 25-minute drive (in good conditions) from my house to Centre Ice to cover the Bay Reps in their opening game of the Rick Deneweth Memorial North/South Showcase for a 6:15 p.m. puck drop. I was cutting it close because we moved up our deadline by two hours that night to help out our delivery drivers, who would need all of the extra time they could get as road conditions only worsened.
I must live in some sort of snow belt because I already had plenty on the ground before the storm hit that evening, which means I had already done plenty of shoveling to get ahead of the game.
But no amount of work I did was going to make the tall task awaiting me Saturday any easier.
With little going on in the high school sports world Saturday, I put the finishing touches on my story about Traverse City West’s three incredible bowlers and then headed out to begin what would be a nearly four-hour slog through hard-packed and wind-swept snow that turned out to be no match for me and my shovel.
One man. One shovel. A few metric tons of snow. Sounds like northern Michigan paradise to me.
Although it was still snowing and the wind was still blowing, it wasn’t long into my shoveling that I put down my hood and shoved my knit cap into the pocket of my soon-to-be-zipped-down winter coat as I worked up a quick sweat.
Before this goes any further, I need to clarify that I quite enjoy shoveling snow. Because I’m sure some of you are wondering, “Brendan, why don’t you have a snowblower?” or “Brendan, why don’t you have a snowplow do it for you?”
Well, the reason is a combination of a few things.
First and foremost, I was raised by my father to believe that snowblowers and snowplows were an unacceptable means of snow removal. You bundle up, get outside, grab a shovel and get to work.
Despite my teenage grumblings, I actually quite liked that and I enjoyed the time outside working with my dad. So shoveling now is just a way to keep that bond between us strong.
The second was a conversation my parents had with me as a pre-teen after I had done a particularly poor and admittedly lazy job of mowing the front and backyards.
My mom and dad didn’t yell or chastise me. Instead, they took the opportunity to instill in me a sense of pride for the work I do, especially the work I do with my two hands. That translated from a meticulous approach to landscaping to the same when I would shovel the front walk and driveway.
And the final reason is simple. I just like shoveling.
The sense of accomplishment. Being outdoors. Battling Mother Nature. All of that just brings me joy.
When I came in Saturday night after finishing the job, I was absolutely buzzing. Literally, my arms and hands and legs and feet were buzzing. My adrenaline was through the roof. My endorphins were like I’d just gotten off Millennium Force at Cedar Point.
You’ve heard of a runner’s high. This, my friends, was the shoveler’s high. And it felt wonderful.
The next day, I was obviously a little bit sore, but that didn’t stop me from getting out there Sunday and moving a couple more tons of snow. Nor did it stop me from shoveling Monday or Tuesday or Wednesday (which is when I put the final touches on this column).
I will say, nothing has yet to compare to that Saturday night. Don’t get me wrong, I enjoyed the other days, but the feeling wasn’t the same.
I guess I’ll just be chasing that white dragon until the next Snowpocalypse buries me in a few feet of snow.