In the next couple of days, I will detail how my “buckle down and base build” week has been unraveled by mysterious pains (apparently when I said “we’re not tapering,” my body only heard the “taper” part and decided to act accordingly). At least I’m finally doing all that yoga that I promised!
But first, this morning, I woke up to this:
Typically (and quite vocally), I am staunchly against such temperatures. But I was ok (not thrilled, but ok) with it this one time because last night, completely out of character for this weird little water proof city, we got snow accumulation. We probably got about 2 inches in less than an hour between 6 and 7 last night (seriously, this hardly ever happens here, and it is about 95% melted already).
Check out my camera skills!
Instead of swearing off the cold (probably about 16 degrees at that point), Aaron and I enthusiastically piled on our new Lulu winter weather gear and headed out for a very slow 2.22 mile run in the fresh, (mostly) clean, glorious snow.
Very rarely (maybe never?) does a run feel magical.
Yesterday, I didn’t care about pace, and I didn’t care that my nose was burning red in protest of the temperature or that my cotton pants (still no running tights) were soaked at the bottom.
From hearing the crunch of my feet cautiously hit the pavement, to enjoying the serene calm and silence that seems to always accompany snow, I enjoyed every second of yesterday’s run. I felt like we were those little kids (I can’t remember their names) exploring Narnia for the first time. If we were in a movie, Tchaikovsky’s Waltz of the Snowflakes would be playing in the background.
Sometimes, I need a reminder to calm down and not worry constantly about performance or races or PR’s. A freak snowstorm gave me that chance.