Two of the coldest times in my life have been in Florida. Once was visiting the parents in Titusville at Christmastime. We usually played a lot of golf on those trips. One day that year my brother-in-law and my brother wanted to go fishing on the Indian River. It was pretty chilly, but not too windy. My brother was in college and living with my parents at the time and he let me borrow a U.S. Navy surplus parka, the gray-green one that had the fur-trimmed hood you could draw down to a little circle just big enough to see out of. We were on the bank, not in a boat. Wellsir. The wind on the river was different from the way it was at Mom & Dad's. We rigged the poles and started fishing, none of us willing to say that it was a day that you'd bring in the brass monkeys, because we were men, dammit, and weren't going to admit weakness. I had that hood so drawn in that it barely admitted light. Finally, me, being the oldest, said it was time to go (we'd been there maybe 40 minutes) and those two got their lines out of the water double-quick.
The second time was walking a block up the street from the then-inlaws house in Crescent Beach, just below St. Augustine on Christmas Eve, to go to a party at a neighbors'. The wind from an impending nor'easter had cranked up, and we walked in a tightly-bunched knot as fast as we could go. Same deal in reverse on the way back. Nobody at that party was anxious to leave and go out into the wind again, and we all loaded up on prophylactic antifreeze before departing. Didn't make a bit of difference. We were popsicles in just a block.