My fingers are still numb as I type this. I got back from running two hours ago.
I’d read the weather reports warning that the Groundhog Day warmth that let me bike in shorts and a T-shirt yesterday would give way to February chill by this evening. So I made sure to go running on my lunch break today to take advantage of the early spring weather. I delighted in the fact that the weather let me wear my favorite running digs, a cheap pink Dri-Fit shirt I wore during my marathon and some Brooks running shorts I’m convinced make my butt look smaller. It was so pleasant when I first headed out, I almost laughed out loud.
Once I hit the turnaround point of the 5-mile run, it was the drivers, pedestrians and other passersby who were laughing. They had good reason to. Within minutes, the weather had gone from 60 and sunny to 40 and, as the National Weather Service would put it, “blustery.” No joke: The cold front came through ON MY RUN. And it literally happened at my turnaround point. On my way out, it was all sunshine and light. Once I turned around, though, I could see the dark, nasty storm clouds that had been steadily rolling in behind me.
Worse yet, running home, I was heading into the wind, which I can only guess was coming from the north. As in, like, the Arctic Circle.
It wasn’t just the discomfort, but the humiliation factor that made the rest of the run painful. It’s one thing to show off your pasty legs on the first day of spring, when everyone else is lookin‘ a fool along with you. Today, it was me and my pink short-sleeved shirt against the (appropriately dressed) world. Really, you can’t blame the passersby for laughing.
The sole bright spot: I tried some of the new songs suggested by blog readers. Miami by Will Smith and Walking on Sunshine both made me think of sunnier climes (thanks for the suggestions, Lex and Courtney!).
When I got back home, my fingers were so freezing, I could barely open the mailbox. But when I finally managed to wrangle it open, lo and behold, I’d gotten my newest issue of Runner’s World, as if the running gods were throwing me a big, glossy bone.
Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to enjoy my magazine with a big cup of tea.