One Foot After the Other

So on the one hand I feel all “look at me I’m running eleven miles when it’s twenty degrees and windier than the prelude to the Wizard of Oz” and I know no one else is out there and boy am I special and aren’t I one tough dude?  And on the other hand I feel all “I hope no one drives by because I’m so frikkin’ hot from working so hard and my remaining hair is plastered down to my tiny head with sweat and I’m plodding along slower than a three-legged dog on heroin” and so old-mannish I’m almost embarrassed.

Sometimes when I run for that long (two hours today you can call me Mr. Pokey McGillicuddy) I have way too much time to think.  I mean, who cares what I look like or how slow I’m going?  I’m running eleven miles when all you couch potatoes are reading trashy novels or watching old war movies or whatever and my lungs could beat up your lungs any day, so cram it if you think I look like some greasy old jogging slug.

I haven’t run that far since August.  Back then it was hot and at least no one could see my sweaty wisps of what is left of my hair because I wore a brimmed hat.  I wore a hat today but it was of the fleece-because-its-winter-and-I-want-to-keep-my-ears-no-frostbite-for-me-thanks variety.  Also, I wore shorts and short sleeves in the summer and any passersby could see my burly arms so they wouldn’t notice if I moved slowly in fact they would be grateful because they would be pondering my resemblance to Adonis.  But of course I had to go with sleeves today.

I have my mileage in for the week now.  I could give up on a run tomorrow and still be on the positive side of my goal.  Of course, the more I manage to get in the less I will plod.  My goal here really is about running far, but if I can enhance my image at the same time, who’s to say that won’t do?  I live here in the United States, after all, where image matters more than substance much of the time.  I’m just trying to get my piece, if you know what I’m saying.

Seriously, it was a good run–slow but I got it done.  That’s a confidence booster, for sure.  The wind is still howling, although the temperature is now just above freezing.  I’m glad I went earlier.  I wouldn’t want anyone to think I’m a wuss.

Another Chilly Run

It seems they can’t be avoided, these cold forays with the running shoes.  I was busy today with all kinds of random crap–paying bills, trying to figure out how to refinance and being put off again (even by a second lender), taking a carful of junk to the dump, letting my children climb all over me.  So I got out to run at the end of the day.

I got to say goodnight to the sun, as it was setting.  I told it I looked forward to seeing it tomorrow.  It was 7 degrees when I left and 5 degrees when I got home.  The wind was light but I ran fast.  I heated up halfway through, enough so I was sweating, but it was chilly, especially with the breeze I created.  These chilly runs can’t be avoided this time of year, if I want to run at all.

When I got home I was sweating, as usual. I wore a wind jacket, and it got soaked through.  My gloves got frosted.  My hat had a rim of ice.  It was cold and I was pumping out water.  My body isn’t quite sure what to make of thermoregulation when the outside temperature is in the single digits but my core temperature is higher than normal.  It kind of freaks out.

The temperature is now zero, darkness having settled in for these many hours.  It will get much colder tonight.  I hope our blueberry bushes handle it well.  I was hoping to run again tomorrow.  I keep getting in these shorties–only four miles today.  I was hoping to do at least six tomorrow, but I may just do the same four again.

I like to get out there, but dang, I’m no popsicle, and I’d like to keep it that way.