Chapter 49: English Winter

English winter:

Snow fell in early January around the English countryside and in town. The neighborhood became quiet and calm. Coaxed by the weather we frequented a local café with hearths and seemingly endless mulled wine. On one evening of heavy snow, we encountered another group of Oxford students amidst a snowball fight.  They invited us to join and recruited us to throw snowballs into their friend’s house to get them to come out. We then found ourselves in a large but short-lived snowball fight. It felt a little like being back in an elementary school neighborhood snowball fight.

              Later, we all went on a trip to Scotland. We started in Glasgow and eventually ended up in Edinburgh. Edinburgh is built on a volcanic plug with a large castle at the top. We would later learn that it was the inspiration for Hogwarts in Harry Potter. While we tried to hike our first full day, we were turned around by thoroughly inappropriate winter outdoor wear. The next day we opted for something a little easier and went on a Scotch whiskey tour and tastings. We learned about several different regions of scotch whiskey and the environmental factors that brought about each whiskey’s unique taste. For instance, how the quality of peat—being exposed to much salty and wet air—that adds the characteristic earthy and smokey flavor to Islay whiskeys such as Lagavulin. The tour ended in a tasting of each region (no more than a quarter of a shot per tasting). I overestimated my own tolerance and quickly became drunk off the very first tasting glass, which Micah and others found hilarious. I think they spent the rest of the day preventing me from doing something stupid… Yet somehow, I would still develop a pallet for good Scotch Whiskey, not because of its apparent short time to intoxication, but more shockingly, for the flavor.

              The train between Oxford and Scotland cut like an aqueduct through the English countryside. Out of the train window the rolling hills against soft sunset light created a slow and rhythmic flickering, as though the Earth were communicating through binary or morse. If Earth needed to tell us somethings, is this how it would be done? Or through math and science? Even now we’re being sent a dangerous message about the environment and climate, but our communal ears are unfortunately too untrained to listen.  I later learn that much of the Oxford Chemistry department is funded by British Petroleum (BP). Several professors are paid for entirely by BP. Just learning that the world’s oldest academic institution, and one that has carried such academic renown and weight could allow such bias in the teaching of its students upset me. How could a planted, sponsored professor teach anything reliable about environmental responsibility or climate change? Not to mention, Exxon—another British company—was found to be responsible for starting and funding climate change disinformation, providing most of the fuel for climate change denial in the US.

The absurdity reminds me of the many issues with clinical trials, money and industry play a large role in publishing and cherry-picking subjects and results. The whole point of science as an epistemological force was to separate it front bias and subjective influence—this was apparently not achieved.

              Deboarding the train, we couldn’t get home without Micah and Marc engaging their new sense of manhood. They buy bottles of whiskey on the way home. Micah confidently states that he had already become a beer person, and now he would become a “whiskey person.” They both succeeded and would thereafter enjoy several whiskey and chat nights. My second round of puberty seemed to be delayed compared to Marc and Micah; however, they eventually turned me a precocious adult and I came to like scotch and joined their occasional night chats.

              In early February it was time for the Hyde Park Relays. I’m part of the third Oxford team. We were divided based on our 5km times. The morning was bitter and cold. My feet place fresh tracks in the snow-covered ground, which soaks bases of my shoes just the slightest on my way to the Bus to join the rest of the team. I have one light jacket. When I board the bus some of my new friends jokingly tell me that I’m way over dressed. Like most cross-country bozos, it seemed we were celebrating voluntary discomfort as usual. Most people had nearly microscopic cut-off track shorts and thinly strapped tank tops and no layers. Running would be the only way to get warm. The first Oxford team was near the front of the bus drinking beer and water. They announced that this would be their best year yet because this year they were hungover. Then they told me, “Remember, you do your best races hungover because you already think you’ll do bad. No expectations.”

              We get to Hyde Park and each team gets up to registration. Our major competition were the Cambridge teams. There were several other fun teams joining from the community, including many that were dressed in costume or pajamas, and one entirely dressed as superheroes. It was as festive and active and excited as I had seen of anyone in England for anything. Maybe it just took reasonably unpleasant weather conditions to get the English to come out.

              I warm up with my team, gently jogging the course prior to start. I note some slippery sections where the frost had started to melt and the ground still icy.

              The race begins. I will be the last on my team to run. Everyone takes off and I’m shocked at how fast they start, at least a 5- or 6-minute mile pace. Each individual runner will have to run a 5K in distance. When it’s my turn I start off slower because I’ve made the mistake of starting too fast several times before. In front of me I could see the last member of the last Cambridge team. Slowly I increased my pace like I would on a Tempo Run. My shoes slipped a bit on the icy dirt, but I didn’t mind. Eventually I catch up to the Cambridge runner and pass him. In the last kilometer and I turned to an all-out sprint. I was out to prove that even an American Oxford student was better than Cambridge. The rest of my little team 3 congratulated me when I crossed the line well before the Cambridge student, securing us ahead of that particular Cambridge team.

              When the race ended, Oxford’s number 1 team got first place, followed by Cambridge’s number 1 team, then the next slots were all Oxford’s secondary teams, followed by the distant Cambridge secondaries.

              We finished the day with a large group meal in a nearby dining hall, with plenty of beer of course. Most of the food was chili, which seemed like a worrisome option to me with everyone having just done strenuous physical activity and now drinking beer. I was just hoping the chili wouldn’t come back up on the bus., but we returned without event. Getting of the bus, Oxford number 1 team celebrated loudly and then started thanking God for their hangovers so that they could run better.

              I can’t say that I wished I’d been hungover in any way whatsoever, but I couldn’t argue with their results. Maybe there is something to be said about feeling like you’re at your bottom and without expectations for something better. It would be a useful mindset for me to adopt.

…

Briefly to the present. When walk around and become annoyed by the absence of most left-sided vision. Sometimes it gives me a headache as I squint to try and even things out. And even when it doesn’t cause a challenge it distracts me like a nagging younger sibling. And I meticulously examine the deficit each day to see if it’s worsened or improved. Each time it’s the same. Anyone else would tell me that I’m wasting time, that I should focus on something else. I wish it were that easy. Nothingness is particularly difficult to ignore. Will I become like that nothingness in others’ memories? A ghost, something that was there but no longer? But I’ve learned to keep my personal expectations low like I learned from Oxford team 1. Yet as I reflect on the past I start again to think about the nature of death. When an experience comes to an end, like our trip to Oxford, without chance for continuation, is that a kind of death? Or when those memories fade and become incomplete, is that a kind of death? I didn’t know, but the physical realness of partial blindness was more objective and concrete and easy to understand. People have asked me what it’s like. The visual deficit is just a nothingness—there is no black or white or colors. There is nothing to indicate that something was once there. They’re rendered images to take the space. It is completely and utterly nothingness without any indication of something. It is not the opposite of seeing something, because an opposite would imply a comparative reflection compared to a “something.” Nothingness is difficult to understand and comprehend, because to use a comparison or antonym places a “something” into the nothingness. But how does nothingness feel? There is a foreboding sense of dread that eventually all will turn to nothingness, like a peak at a dreadful future.