It feels more like Chicago outside than it does Portland: oppressive and unsettled. I'd like to go out for some exercise but cringe at the idea of exposing myself to the unpleasant atmosphere. I make up my mind to stay in, comfortable at my spot next to the portable heater when my Dad calls, booming to me over the phone that he "just finished a killer cross-country ski run!" "I'm gonna be so sore tomorrow!" he excitedly shouts over the phone. He called only to give me this news. We hang up, and I smile to myself. How does he muster this kind of enthusiasm? And on his own no less? I suppose some exercise would do me some good. I'll go out.