Steam Curls

McMURDO STATION, ANTARCTICA

Seven am found me laying on the floor, the steam rising from my body. The chilled, uninsulated floor felt great on my back as I stretched out after my morning workout. I am not, by design, a morning person. I think morning is the worst thing that ever happened to me. Every day. It’s much more amenable when there’s a tent or a porch involved, but there is no worse way to start the day than with a blaring alarm, peeling my sleepy self from the warm sheets. The early morning hours, however, seem to be the only reliable time of day when I know, no matter what, I will find the time to go to the gym.

After a quick stretch, it’s off to the galley to weave through the throngs of people foraging for breakfast among the platters of powdered eggs and precooked bacon. And from there, so starts the often erratic rhythm of my day. 

By lunchtime, our two day streak of fine weather, with calm winds and clear skies, has ended abruptly, replaced now by howling winds and blowing snow. I pause mid-stride when I am caught in a whiteout moment. It only lasts a second, and then the buildings appear, faint though they may be. The wind sweeps across the surface, glossing over our snow-packed roads, turning them into slick skating rinks for loaders and humans alike to glissade across.

The fine gravel spread about town for traction now mixes with the blowing snow so that the wind is not only fierce and icey on my exposed face, but also slightly exfoliating. Now out of the habit of traveling with goggles, I squint and tuck my chin into my chest as I make my way between buildings, thankful that I know these paths by memory and hardly have to look up.

Each time I stepped outside today, the weather had shifted slightly. The walk home from dinner was surprisingly calm, with no limits on visibility, but now laying in my bed at the end of the day, I listen to the winds howl, feel the building shake a bit.