When I was in school, I'd get up on winter mornings, soak a dishcloth in hot water, and hold it to the kitchen window to melt the ice off the inner side of the glass. I'd then peer through the glass to see the thermometer outside. It was always fun when the morning temperature was the coldest yet that year, as I'd feel excited that there was a new record. "Oh wow! 28 below zero!" I'd then put on my tight torn jeans, sneakers, T-shirt, and frayed denim jacket [it was the 80s], and walk 1.5 kilometers to the bus stop. No hat - the only thing keeping my neck and ears warm was the flowing silken locks of my mullet. Including waiting time at the bus stop, I'd be out in the cold for more than half an hour. And I thought it was normal, and never complained about the cold.
This morning, it was only -18 C. I wore insulated boots, a T-shirt, a dress shirt, a fleece thermal vest, a spring jacket over that, and a goosedown coat over that. I wore a wool hat, a nice warm scarf that ravenkat gave me, a goosedown hood, and snowmobile mittens. I walked barely a kilometer to work. And yet I whined about the cold a million times more than I did when I was in school.