I love winter running. Although I’m very aware that this is half so I can casually mention at a cocktail party or even blog to the fact that I’m one of those crazies that run in the snow. The other and more important half is genuine love for the adrenalin rush I get from the cold hitting my face as I run in single digit temperatures.
That’s what made yesterday so hard for me. Our fair city received four inches of snow in the early morning hours. With the high in the teens this made it the perfect conditions to get that runners rush that only comes from snow blown into your face. That and the rush that only comes form saying “yeah, the conditions were hard, but I still put in a couple of miles.” Pause for quiet admiration.
As I received many emails and texts last week asking about the melancholic theme of my blog posts. I was taken down by a severe head cold on the 4th. Guess I kissed one too many of the boys on New Years Eve. New Years is the one night I pop my annoying personal space bubble and kiss everyone in sight. Which paid off getting to know some guys at the bear bar, but also gave me a week dictated to Nyquil.
If you do decline crunches with a head cold, snot will shoot out of your head. Sorry, just saying.
The chemically induced dream state lifted on Saturday. This was due to watching copious amounts of bad gay cinema and super-heated green chili. The result of this was our aforementioned quandary on Sunday morning. Should I go for a run? I’m feeling somewhat better. A long run might just be what I need to get my Steve back.
I sat at my coffee shop going over debating the “take care of yourself, you’ve been sick.” With the take care of yourself, get some energy flowing.”
In the end I compromised and ran on a treadmill at the gym. Cough, cough.