Saturday, February 13th. Cedar Park, Texas. St. Valentine’s Showdown.
Adam turns the ignition on his Dodge Ram and it roars to life. For the third time since I have arrived in Austin, the windows have accumulated a thin, bumpy layer of ice.
It has been below freezing for more than 36 hours now. The trees are blanketed from trunk to limbs to branches and to the leaves with ice. It envelops everything.
This is Texas.
After a few minutes of running the heat and running the wiper blades on full blast, there is enough visibility for us to comfortably inch forward out of his parking stall.
“Wild, man”, I say under my breath as we drive under low hanging branches; being weighed down by the pounds of excess ice.
“These trees aren’t built for this,” Adam agrees. “I hope it’s not scratching the paint”.
-
The drive for us wasn’t so bad; we are both native Wisconsinites. We are no strangers to ice, snow, and their effects on concrete. My first step out of the truck, though, I had to clutch on the door handle to steady myself - the ice had accumulated at the gym more so than it had at Adam’s place and I almost ate pavement because of it.
Today, we are hosting a meet at Stonehenge - well, I suppose you could say that we are hosting the back room in Stonehenge and hosting the competition in the neighbor’s warehouse. Athletes will walk between the two buildings under an overhang so they aren’t exposed to the elements.
There are folks from all over Texas here; some from Houston, Waco, Austin, Round Rock - and somehow only a few decided not to brave the ice and temperatures to attend.
The competition goes mostly without a hitch, save the computer system completely failing and Adam’s and Dave Grifin’s decision to run the meet old school; solely relying on cards and the announcer’s ability to make sure attempts were taken and every lift was accounted for.
After the last barbell clamored its way onto the platform, the Stonehenge crew made quick work of putting both Bespoke (the competition venue) and Stonehenge back together. At this point, the temperature had dipped below freezing again. And while the ice on the ground had melted throughout the day, it had solidified as tires no longer tread on them.
We part ways to get some food at a restaurant close by and all make plans to come train on Monday morning - it was going to be a heavy week for almost everyone and the shared excitement for getting to open up the throttle was palpable.
The weather had different plans.
-
Monday, February 15th. Cedar Park, Texas.
Lights had flickered at first and then failed all together last night.
It was right around 11:30 pm; Adam and I were talking on his couch about God-knows-what and as soon as the lights cut, we just sat in the darkness and laughed.
We decided, then, that it was a sign to go to bed. He flipped on a switch to better illuminate his way to his room and we laughed at the absurdity of it all. Instead, he turned on his flashlight on his phone and went to the kitchen. In a moment, he had dug a lighter out of a junk drawer and laughed as he set afire the smallest of blazes.
“Goodnight, brother,” he said, chuckling his way down the hall.
It’s 8:30 am now, and none of us are laughing as Stacy, Adam and I congregate in the living room that is a cool 46 degrees. We had only been without power for 9 hours.
“I checked the cameras at the gym,” Adam says, pulling on his shoes as Stacy and I huddle in blankets. “There is still power there. If the roads look okay,” we all glance out of the windows at the 4 inches that had accumulated overnight, “we’re going to go”.
“Can you grab my boots and jacket out of the back of my car while you check?” Stacy says, shifting her weight on the couch so that she could make herself even smaller under the covers.
Adam is only gone for a few moments before the door opens again.
“Okay, we’re going. We can totally make it,” I leap out of the chair, ready to be warmer. Although my bones were used to this cold, I was eager to allow the sinews holding them together to relax even a little bit.
“Did you grab my jacket and boots?” Stacy asks, also moving, ready to make her way out of the apartment.
“No, I’m sorry. I was so excited that I completely forgot. We’ll get them when we leave.” Stacy nods as Adam continues, “grab an extra change of clothes in case these get wet and a few extra pairs of socks”.
It only took a few moments for us to get pack up and head down the stairs towards Adam’s truck. We brought bags of non perishable food and left frozen and refrigerated food on his deck; allowing the frigid wind to keep it cold.
He had started the truck when he first checked the conditions, but the ice and snow hadn’t melted away in the few minutes the engine had been running. There weren’t any scrapers or brushes to be of use - those kind of tools are unheard of this far south.
Stacy walks up to her small Toyota, trying to unlock the doors with her fob. It wouldn’t work. “I can’t get in,” she remarks, calm and resigned.
“Try just using your key in the lock,” I say, and she nods, unlocking the door. She had lived in Texas for her whole life - a dead battery from the cold had not been something she had experienced before. I had run into the problem all too many times in the past.
She retrieves what she needs, including her weightlifting shoes. We hop into Adam’s truck and wait a few more minutes before there are enough cracks in the ice to see the road.
The drive over is unlike anything any Texan had ever seen.
Four inches of snow. It was enough to fall trees and take out power lines.
And yet, it was a scene so familiar to my own eyes.
That is what is most insane and frustrating about the entire ordeal; just a few state lines north and this would be a normal Monday morning. But we aren’t a few state lines north.
And this is anything but normal.
We are the only ones on the road. Some tire tracks existed in the unplowed road ways, but no one else was driving.
There is a small hill that leads to a small incline to the complex where Stonehenge is situated among other businesses. We made it down the first hill perfectly fine, but when Adam leaned hard onto the gas to make it up the small hill, we only slid backwards. Instead, he pulled around the complex to an area about a quarter of a mile from the gym.
We make it there; although there were a few slips and skids. Adam pulls the truck up to a vacated building and asks Stacy to stay by the truck. Then we load ourselves as mules and haul across the snowy terrain to the gym, trying to stay upright.
On the way, we could hear the hum of heaters in the buildings in the complex. As we crunched closer and closer to Stonehenge, our hopes grew higher and higher.
But, it was to no avail. As soon as Adam typed in his code to the door, we were disappointed.
The power had failed here, too.
“It must have failed just before we got here,” he says, checking the thermostat. It was still 58 degrees. He nods his head.
“What’s the plan?” I ask. He chews on this for a moment before answering.
“We’re going to go back to the house,” he says. “Fuck”.
I nod, and he goes to a pile of snacks that we had left over from the competition. “And we’re taking some of these with us”.
We trekked back the way we came, and told Stacy what had happened. She only nods.
-
Adam decides to get some gas as he calls his mom to fill her in on the situation; she left for Wisconsin on Sunday and Adam was set to join her tomorrow. That is, if flights can actually take off. I checked a flight tracker as soon as we got back to the truck and every flight had been grounded for the day.
“You should drip your faucets,” Paula says. Her tenant had gone over to her place that morning to do just that. Dripping your faucets allowed water to continually flow through the pipes, preventing them from freezing - or worse, bursting.
“Shit, yeah,” Adam’s eyes widen. This is not something any of us had considered before leaving his house this morning. “We’ll head over to the gym now to do that.”
So we turned around after his tank was full. He and Stacy had picked up a hot dog from the gas station and I grabbed a coffee. We consumed these while Adam and I are in shock.
“Dude,” I say between sips, “this doesn’t make any sense. It’s barely below freezing.”
“Yeah, man, but Texas isn’t built for this. We don’t have the plows, the salt -”
“I have never seen anything like this,” Stacy says. We both look to her. “I have lived in Austin for 30 years and this has never happened”.
Just then, we see a couple of people rolling down a hill, playing in the snow. “You can tell they have power,” Adam says, and I nod.
“You certainly wouldn’t catch someone without heat doing that right now”.
-
Adam is able to make it up the hill to the gym this time; following in the tracks made by a fellow business owner in the complex. We are able to park right in front of the gym.
Thankfully, the water was running. We counted our blessings and sat in the heat of the gym for a moment.
The temperature was holding at 55 degrees.
“I mean, we might as well train,” Adam says.
“It will keep us warm,” I agree.
“We don’t have lights,” Stacy says, but as she opens the door from the lobby to the platforms and a small light from the glass door pools onto the first two platforms. “That’ll do,” she says.
We take our time warming up. Stress and cold had seeped into our tissues, not allowing for joints to move as freely as they otherwise would. I’m more thankful than ever that Greg programmed a back off week for me this week.
As we stretched and mobilized in the dark, we realized that we needed a lot less light that we previously anticipated. Irises were all but swallowed by pupils as they adjusted the dark-rich floors and walls. We could really train anywhere in the room safely.
After touching the barbell only a few times, lights flickered and then blazed.
The gym had power restored.
Adam quickly ran to the thermostat to adjust it up to 68 degrees - it is the maximal recommended temperature to set to prevent a total failure of the power grid.
Suddenly, smiles spread on faces. Stacy worked up to a three rep max back squat and Adam worked up to a heavy snatch double. Although we knew everything around us was in total disarray, these small pieces of training were normal-ish.
Usually, with Southwest, I get a reminder on my phone to check into my flight 24 hours before take off. My flight was scheduled for 2 on Tuesday. It was 2:30 and my phone was silent.
Opening the app, I see a notice. I can change the time of my flight once, free of charge. Adam has the same option. He booked the same flights as me to be in Wisconsin for personal reasons, but he was certain that we wouldn’t get out of Texas in time to attend to that business.
“It looks like there’s an option for Wednesday,” I say, optimistic.
“Bro, there’s no way flights will be taking off on Wednesday,” Adam says.
Nodding, I skip past all of the options for the rest of Wednesday and Thursday, knowing that the first day it would be comfortably about freezing was Friday.
“Friday at 2?”
“That - I think that will be good,” Stacy says. “You only get one free change. It’s better to play it safe”.
“No, you’re totally right,” I say, clicking Accept these changes.
-
Towards the end of the session, Zack walked into the gym. As a Chicago native, he was equally unimpressed by the status of the weather and Texas’s response to it.
“Dude, have you been to Cefco?” Zack asks Adam.
“Cefco - the gas station?”
“Bro, the place rocks. I spent, like, five hours there”.
“What, for heat?” I ask.
“For heat, for people, for food,” Zack speaks with reverence of the convenience store.
“You should get a loyalty card, bro,” Adam says laughing.
“Dude,” is all Zack says, as if it was the best idea Adam has ever had.
He downed some pre workout and had a quick bodybuilding session that Adam intermittently joined in on.
“You should drip your faucets,” Adam says to Zack as we bundled back up, ready to head out. The plan had changed again - we were going to go to Adam’s mom’s house. It seemed that she would be with power. She lived a short drive away in Round Rock. But first, we had to go back to Adam’s to ensure the water would at least turn on.
Zack nods, “I’ll try that”.
We depart and head back to Adam’s.
-
Water isn’t running.
As concerning as it is, Adam and Stacy keep their cool. “It’s probably a frozen line,” Adam says, grabbing a blow drier and connecting it to a power outlet on the deck. In some Texas apartments and homes, the water heater is in an outdoor shed or closet. Adam’s was of those few.
Stacy turned on the television and put a show on for background noise. The power had only been restored to the apartment a few minutes before we arrived. It was now 42 degrees, but the heat was on.
After a few minutes of running the blow drier over the pipes, Adam came back inside, eyes wide. “The pipe burst”.
“The - what?”
“It burst. I’m gonna go find the maintenance guy,” he brushes past me, pulling out his phone and dialing the number.
It is only when the door closes behind him that I can hear the gushing water. Stacy and I look out on the deck to see gallons of water flowing from the lines. “Holy shit,” I whisper under my breath.
Stacy’s eyes are saucers as she gets closer to the heater, assessing. “We should get some towels - soak it up,” she says.
I point to a small electrical block with wires wrapping around it just a few incest form where the water was gushing. “No, we should back up”.
The maintenance man came and looked at the unit for a moment, his eyes tired. He stroked his beard with his thumb and forefinger for a moment before he reached about the until to a shut off valve and cut off water to the unit. “Go somewhere else for a few days,” he says. It isn’t a question of if we had anywhere to go, he simply knew that living in the apartment had just become impossible.
For very complicated reasons, heating the apartment relied on having water flowing through it. It was all interconnected. So when the water was shut off, it had instantaneously become uninhabitable.
We pack up what little necessities we need and head north.
-
It is truly impossible, I believe, to appreciate a warm shower until it is the first time your muscles have been allowed to relax in 24 hours.
Feeling had finally been restored to my toes, something I had all but given up hope on 12 hours prior. I could feel my spinal column become less rigid - could feel quads and shoulders finally allow tension to release.
I am grateful for this warm stream and the steam that is rolling up the sides of the walls. It is only a few minutes, but it is enough.
I come out into Paula’s living room with hair still damp. Adam and Stacy are laying on the couch watching old episodes of Modern Family. Zack is stretched out on a recliner.
None of us trust that this will last. That the thermostat will read 68 in the morning. That we will be able to cook or that water will run.
We go to bed in gratitude, but also in fear. The weather looks just as dismal for the next 72 hours. And the last 24 have been far from peaceful.
Somehow, we sleep well, knowing that we are some of the most fortunate people in the region. So many will go without power or water tonight, and we are lucky enough to have both.
-
Thursday, February 18th. Round Rock, Texas.
My flight is still scheduled to leave at 2 pm tomorrow afternoon. I have a gate assigned. I have a boarding pass.
I don’t trust it.
We took the day off of training yesterday to allow our bodies and our minds a day to rest. Tuesday was full of new challenges, from not being able to find a store to restock on food, the power being out at the gym again, the loss of water and power.
But our group of four - Stacy, Adam, Zack and I - we have made the most of it. We have somehow had fun during this whole fiasco and have been grateful for all of our fortune in having resources, experience, and each other to lean on.
Batman Begins plays on the television as Adam and I catch up on work that we have been unable to complete due to lack of consistent, reliable power and internet access.
Wallace takes turns on each of our laps, seeking pets and food; whichever we are more likely to provide.
It’s the last night that the temperatures will dip below freezing. It’s the end of this wild week of winter terror in the south.
Tomorrow morning, I will wake up and brew enough coffee for the lot of us and we will go train before I hop on a flight and head back to Wisconsin, where the temperatures will be far more frigid than anything Texas has ever seen. But it won’t be fatal. Stores will not be flooded and incapable of serving patrons. Power will remain consistent. Food and gas will not be short.
Life will be normal.
The same conditions that tore Texas apart the past few days are favorable winter conditions in the northern state.
And the day I leave is the day that the weather in Austin will break past 45 degrees. Warmer than it was in most of the houses that had gone without power form more than 36 hours in Cedar Park and Austin.
And while the temperatures will be once again inhabitable, the changes in policy, the repairs, and the restocking of grocery store shelves will only be beginning.
