Jog and Enjoy the Weather
Last year, I finally experienced something that many runners before me had discovered: a love of running. It didn't happen overnight and it was something that I never expected, but over time, running morphed from something I "should" do into something that I wanted to do.
That said, this is the first winter that I am running outdoors and making every effort to stick with my routine, even though the rain, snow and dropping temperatures are doing their best to keep me from it. Until recently, I hadn't exercised outside in any temperatures colder than 20 degrees.
Last Monday, I checked the Tuesday morning weather report to see what I was up against. It wasn't pretty: 17 degrees and snow. But more importantly, the weather website predicted that it would "feel like" 8 degrees outside. Yikes!
I laid out my gear (reflective vest, fleece gloves and headband, iPod, Garmin, the works), layered up and went to bed in my workout clothes that night. I wasn't fully committed to the next day's workout. After all, I do not like mornings, winter or snow, so the odds of me being successful were stacked against me.
When I awoke and peeked through my blinds, I saw my street and sidewalk covered in snow. "Great," I thought. "How am I supposed to run in two inches of snow?" I'm more than paranoid about slipping and falling when it's icy, wet or snowy outside. I think this stems from an unforgettable—and painful—fall I took as a kid when walking to the bus stop. I put on my second layer of clothes: lined pants (on top of my running tights), a zip-up fleece with a mock turtleneck (on top of my long sleeved performance top), and a second fleece headband—not for my head and ears, but to wrap around my face to warm my nose, mouth and breath. (I was a remarkable sight, let me tell you.)
When I got outside, it didn't feel too cold, certainly not like 8 degrees (I would guess closer to 20). As I walked to the end of my street to begin my run, I kept finagling with my earphones, which didn't want to stay in place with two headbands wrapped around my head (epic fail!), so I shoved my iPod into my pocket and ran without music (another feat I would have never attempted a year ago).
Despite the cold, snow and lack of entertainment, this winter run was unlike all the others that I had done before it. Without music blasting in my ears, my other senses were heightened and I think I enjoyed myself as much—or maybe more—than when I work out to my favorite songs. Without music to motivate me or set my pace, I had to listen to my own body to set the tone for the day's workout. I heard my deep breaths, indicating that I was working hard—something I never really noticed before. I listened to every single step that packed the snow underneath me to form a perfect footprint, making a squeaky sound as I jogged slowly down the block. I watched the airy snowflakes, float down before me like miniature feathers. It was beautiful! They weren't in a hurry and neither was I. Occasionally, one would land on my eyelashes or my cheeks only to melt on contact.
I could have viewed this cold, dark morning as something dreadful. I could have focused on the slippery sidewalks, below freezing temperatures or my cold nose, but I chose to view it as something magical, almost like a kid who wakes up to snow on Christmas morning. It was my version of playing in the snow, something I haven't done since I was a lot younger.
With a couple inches of snow on the sidewalk, there is no such thing as running fast. I had to be extra careful about where I stepped and how I picked up my feet. I ran for 24 minutes that morning (my short run for the week), and only managed to cover 2 miles, but I didn't care. Sometimes, no matter how fast or slow you're moving, whether you're near or far away from your goal, sometimes you just have to accept what is and enjoy the journey itself.
That said, this is the first winter that I am running outdoors and making every effort to stick with my routine, even though the rain, snow and dropping temperatures are doing their best to keep me from it. Until recently, I hadn't exercised outside in any temperatures colder than 20 degrees.
Last Monday, I checked the Tuesday morning weather report to see what I was up against. It wasn't pretty: 17 degrees and snow. But more importantly, the weather website predicted that it would "feel like" 8 degrees outside. Yikes!
I laid out my gear (reflective vest, fleece gloves and headband, iPod, Garmin, the works), layered up and went to bed in my workout clothes that night. I wasn't fully committed to the next day's workout. After all, I do not like mornings, winter or snow, so the odds of me being successful were stacked against me.
When I awoke and peeked through my blinds, I saw my street and sidewalk covered in snow. "Great," I thought. "How am I supposed to run in two inches of snow?" I'm more than paranoid about slipping and falling when it's icy, wet or snowy outside. I think this stems from an unforgettable—and painful—fall I took as a kid when walking to the bus stop. I put on my second layer of clothes: lined pants (on top of my running tights), a zip-up fleece with a mock turtleneck (on top of my long sleeved performance top), and a second fleece headband—not for my head and ears, but to wrap around my face to warm my nose, mouth and breath. (I was a remarkable sight, let me tell you.)
When I got outside, it didn't feel too cold, certainly not like 8 degrees (I would guess closer to 20). As I walked to the end of my street to begin my run, I kept finagling with my earphones, which didn't want to stay in place with two headbands wrapped around my head (epic fail!), so I shoved my iPod into my pocket and ran without music (another feat I would have never attempted a year ago).
Despite the cold, snow and lack of entertainment, this winter run was unlike all the others that I had done before it. Without music blasting in my ears, my other senses were heightened and I think I enjoyed myself as much—or maybe more—than when I work out to my favorite songs. Without music to motivate me or set my pace, I had to listen to my own body to set the tone for the day's workout. I heard my deep breaths, indicating that I was working hard—something I never really noticed before. I listened to every single step that packed the snow underneath me to form a perfect footprint, making a squeaky sound as I jogged slowly down the block. I watched the airy snowflakes, float down before me like miniature feathers. It was beautiful! They weren't in a hurry and neither was I. Occasionally, one would land on my eyelashes or my cheeks only to melt on contact.
I could have viewed this cold, dark morning as something dreadful. I could have focused on the slippery sidewalks, below freezing temperatures or my cold nose, but I chose to view it as something magical, almost like a kid who wakes up to snow on Christmas morning. It was my version of playing in the snow, something I haven't done since I was a lot younger.
With a couple inches of snow on the sidewalk, there is no such thing as running fast. I had to be extra careful about where I stepped and how I picked up my feet. I ran for 24 minutes that morning (my short run for the week), and only managed to cover 2 miles, but I didn't care. Sometimes, no matter how fast or slow you're moving, whether you're near or far away from your goal, sometimes you just have to accept what is and enjoy the journey itself.
