Survival of the Fittest

I didn't go to yoga class this morning because it's so friggin' cold.   The walk to my studio takes about twenty-five minutes on clear sidewalks; on icy, snow covered turf it takes longer.  By the time I get to the studio my fingers are numb and yellow from lack of blood.  So I just plain decided to skip yoga today.  That's a major decision for me because practising yoga keeps me fit and looking as good as I can at my not-quite-advanced age. 
As I went about my morning ablutions in an unhurried manner, thanks to my decision to lay low, I had mixed feelings about the wintry weather.  While I'm grateful that there's finally genuine winter weather when there should be, temporarily staving off my usual worries about global warming, I also really, really hate the cold.  Despite feeling badly about missing yoga today (which is bound to happen quite a few times during the winter), experience has shown me that a miserable walk to the studio won't be mitigated by seventy-five minutes of yoga, because I have to make the trek back home again.
These thoughts were going through my head when I eventually sat down at my computer.  I laughed out loud when I opened up the Google browser and saw the masthead depicting the anniversary of Roald Amundsen's expedition to the South Pole.  He and his small team of explorers reached the South Pole on this day in 1911. 

I know that what Amundsen achieved is historically remarkable, but I just can't get as excited about it as most of the world did when it first happened.  I don't understand why anyone would want to suffer hardship, pain, and misery, all the while risking death, just to be the first person (read man) to go somewhere that is uninhabitable and inhospitable.  I suppose the same could be said about landing a man on the moon, but the science and technology required to do that certainly advances our understanding of the Universe. 
Maybe I'm overestimating myself by suggesting that I have some idea about what is required to survive extreme cold.  It's not rocket science.  I've lived in northern climes all my life and know what's required to cope with winter, which is why I have absolutely no desire to do it on a bigger and more treacherous scale, like trekking to the South Pole. 
When I embark on my half-hour walk to yoga, I know what I must do to prevent frost-bite and broken bones from falling on slippery pavement.  The same exercise in fine weather is meditative and pleasant, and the perfect preparation for yoga practise.  That doesn't happen in sub-zero temperatures.
At least I have a choice when I decide not to walk to yoga in the cold and dark days of winter, and for that I'm grateful.  Millions of people around the world suffer terribly just to get through the day, only to get up the next morning for more of the same.  I try not to dwell on such things too much.  Feeling depressed about it doesn't help anyone.
I don't understand why anyone would choose to put themselves through hell for the sake of being the first to do anything or go anywhere, unless it's to save their lives.  Surviving brutal circumstances is challenging, whether it be privation, war, disease, or natural disaster.  The word "survivor" is never more aptly applied than to those brave souls who do indeed survive such adversity.
Then there are people who deliberately challenge themselves by engaging in extreme sports and activities.  It must be the Nietzschean thing of what does not destroy me makes me stronger.  One can't be complacent living on the edge.  But that's not the way I operate.  I guess I'm a wuss. 

During the darkest, coldest nights of winter, my idea of moving out of my comfort zone is just getting out of bed in the morning.  And no, I don't expect a medal.  I'm not that spoiled.  Being able to sit in my warm, sunny study and write about it is reward enough.  So mote it be.
- G.P.