Over the course of the last week or so I have run in rain, sleet and snow, on mud, slush and ice, in shorts and t-shirt one day and in long sleeves, pants and two pairs of gloves on another. As the saying goes, if you don't like the weather in Indiana, just wait five minutes.
It started last weekend with the aforementioned muddiest race of my life at the USATF Club Cross Country Championship in Cincinnati. Today's run was a slip 'n slide affair across Bloomington with Maura, with only a few near collisions with the cars that refused to scoot over a few inches despite the entire other side of the road being empty. In conditions like today's, every step is a game of Russian Roulette, wondering if your feet are about to go out from under you on the next patch of invisible black ice. For me, every step is also a flashback to the winter morning nearly four years ago when I did just that and instead of being the nimble cat I normally am, I face planted and came away with a nice scar above my eyebrow. To this day when it is really cold that scars still aches and tempts me towards a treadmill.
Saturday morning I awoke in the dark to drive up to Brownsburg to meet Julie and Allison for a twenty-miler from Julie's house to Eagle Creek and back. The hope was to avoid the incoming winter storm and its inches of snow. We came close, but by the time we stepped out the door there was already a coat of the white stuff on the ground. We got many dirty looks and a few angry honks on our way, but once we arrived at the Park we were welcomed by dozens of our own kind. These were fellow cardio-addicts who likewise understand the masochistic pleasure of watching the snow fall through the branches and crunch underneath the weight of a good shoe. At one point I spent a little too much time admiring nature's beauty and not enough time admiring its dangers and slipped straight into a Sycamore (and I'm not talking about one of my friends from Indiana State).
This very minor collision gave me the jolt of adrenaline I needed to be aware enough to avoid actually falling down for the rust of the run. It also got me wondering if our crazy compatriots had scars similar to mine from when they too had put the joy of self-propulsion (a.k.a. running) above personal safety on the priority pyramid. By the end of the two and a half hour run my legs ached, my fingers were numb and later in the day I could barely keep my eyes open, but since I did not acquire any new scars (or worse) it was totally worth it!
Whenever my head aches from the cold or I get frustrated with constant slippage, I contemplate moving to a warmer, gentler climate. However, without weeks like these I don't think I would have the same appreciation for the nice weather, nor the good stories to tell that make me sound tough :) Not to mention, a great excuse to drink hot chocolate (it's a proven recovery drink, see Tecklenburg, et. al). Sure, Arizona would be nice right now, but I'm a homegrown Hoosier and just can't help but find some perverse rationalization for liking it here!
*I know the pictures have nothing to do with the post, except for the fact that I was dog-gone tired after the run on Saturday, and Lola did nap with me for awhile!
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