Cabin fever is real. Before I came back to the States for Christmas, I was dumb. Despite ice on the sidewalks and temperatures around zero (windchill around negative fifteen), I still ran outside when I didn’t go to the pool. One sunny Saturday, I ran outside for only ten minutes before my hands started stinging, despite wearing winter running gloves. By the time I got back to my apartment (another ten minutes), they were numb. I laid on top of them in my bed for an hour crying, hoping they would come back to normal in time for the party I was attending that night. They did, but they were bright red.
Now that I’ve stopped being dumb–as this post will attest to–I fully expect to avoid any lectures this opening story might incite from well meaning parents, grandparents, aunts, and Joys, Mollys or Svetlanas. Deal?
I’m not sporty, but I am a pretty active human being. I missed running and walking and biking and gardening and the active life Lawrence let me have. I returned to Russia in January knowing I didn’t want to almost lose my hands again. Nor did I want to break something slipping on the ice. Enter winter sports.
Ice Skating
There are a number of places to ice skate in Moscow. Two of the most popular rinks are at Red Square and in Gorky Park. I’m sure that the rink at Red Square is quaint and lovely and historical. You might even catch Vladimir Putin there since it’s in his backyard and all. 
But Gorky Park is awesome. At night, it is all aglow and they pump music and I’m sure that all the teenagers hang out there. It is the largest ice skating rink in Europe.
I went with some professors from NES on a Saturday. It was sunny, but cold cold cold. I didn’t know this until a few months ago, but the sunnier days are colder because the fog traps the warmth and keeps it in. I fight myself on what I want regarding this.
Luckily, the Russians knew it would be cold, so they stayed home. There was almost no line to get skates. Then we skated. That’s it.
Incredibly Expensive Gym Membership–World Class Gym
Okay, this is not a winter sport. Not at all. I run on a treadmill and lift weights and I will likely start swimming soon. But, it’s a whole new cultural acclimation, mostly because it gives me access to Russian TV, Russian music videos (which are actually white Russian rappers mixed in with Jennifer Lopez and the occasional Will Smith “Men in Black”–yessssssssss!), and Russian radio (which I’ve found is mostly Rhianna and Lady Gaga).
America’s Next Top Model comes on in the mornings; in Russian of course, but fierce knows no language boundary. On weekend mornings I watch Soviet cartoons. And sometimes, the Russian version of Hidden Camera comes on. They don’t really talk, but just make exaggerated hand gestures. They have about 10 pranks per 30 minute episode. At least two of the pranks involved the prankster having an object (cell phone, notebook, etc) stuck in their butt (I’m serious) and then asking the person being pranked if they’d seen said object. I feel like telling you of the other pranks is completely unnecessary.
And, up until today, I had made no major faux pas at this gym. Apparently I’ve been offending two twins in their mid-fifties by wearing my down coat into the locker room. Ever had a locker room full of Russian women lecture you? Good fun.
The gym is incredibly swanky and if I told you how much it cost, you would be surprised and maybe you would judge me. But, since it’s been blizzarding and hanging out around 15 degrees for the last four days, I’m quite happy.
Broomball
I’ve only played broomball once, so I certainly cannot speak as an authority. It’s basically hockey without skates and a ball instead of a puck. You wear padded pants, padded shorts, knee pads, and elbow pads. You wear an over-sized jersey and if you’re on team U.S.A, it says “Frozen Assets” with a dollar sign in the center. When you only fall five times throughout the course of a game, you will consider yourself incredibly lucky. You will fall on bones and muscles you didn’t know you had. Your neck might be sore from holding up your helmet.
The embassies play broomball every year. The Germans flood two of their tennis courts–and voila–ice. I met up with people outside of the US Embassy, which meant that I had to show my passport after 24 seconds of standing outside the Embassy on the sidewalk (you can’t just stand outside the US Embassy…). When we got to the German Embassy, though, they just let us right in. I didn’t even show my passport. 
When I first started putting on my gear, the pair of shorts on load to me had “Bollinger” written inside. I took it as a sign. But they were way too big, so I traded them in.
After we finished getting dressed, we caught the last part of two of the men’s games–Canada versus Russia and Germany versus someone…France? The Canadians were not happy; neither were the Germans.
Then our game started. We played the Finns, who are, not surprisingly, good at broomball, since it is running on ice and Finland is cold. I did nothing notable, good or bad. They kicked our butts.
I would like to go cross country skiing but I’m not sure this will happen. A few Muscovites have encouraged me to buy my own pair of skis. “They’re not expensive,” they insist. What they fail to realize is how small my small apartment really is, that buying a fan at Ашан a few weekends ago and the equipment I acquired this past weekend at broomball has almost put me over the limit of “items for which I have floorspace.” I work endlessly to not acquire things here, and somehow, despite my best efforts, I am acquiring.
