The weather widget in my computer’s system tray rearranged my monitor’s pixels like this Saturday:
While I haven’t had time to shop for all the cold-weather running goodies you guys recommended, I decided that 43 degrees was warm enough for me to attempt my first outdoor run of the winter. I put on my yoga pants, a long-sleeved t-shirt, and a light-weight jacket and headed for the trail. Then I turned around and headed back to my apartment.
No, I didn’t quit before I started. I had to grab a knit cap because my ears were already cold. Then I went for a run and it rocked! I ran 3 miles at a 10:09 pace, much faster than my Irish Festival 5K pace of 10:31 back in September. So even though I’m about the same weight as I was then, and perhaps a pound or two heavier, I can outrun potential thieves and villains much faster now. Cool! My fingers were cool too, freezing for a mile and a half before they warmed up, so gloves are a must next time. After two miles I unzipped my jacket and during the last half mile I took off my cap. This cold-weather running thing might work out after all, though ask me again when the temperature has a minus sign in front of it. I had such a great high after the run. Exercise makes me feel so alive and happy. Part of the reason I think I’ve been down lately is because I haven’t been exercising as much. Gotta’ change that.
When I was running across a bridge on the trail, I saw a man on the observation deck watching the flecks of ice in the river and my first thought was, “I hope he doesn’t push me over the railing as I run by because I’ll freeze in that water!” It’s got to be one of the most bizarre thoughts I’ve ever had when running. Why would anyone want to push me off of a bridge? And why was I so concerned about the cold water when the fall itself would probably break my neck? The cold must make me kooky.