Snow-Laced Shoes

BZZT. BZZT. BZZT.

God damn this alarm. I do not want to get up. Yet, I swing my legs out of my warm covers regardless. Winter running is a brutal, brutal endeavor. My bed is so warm, and my room is so cold. I stumble around, walking to the light switch. I flick it on and rub my eyes. I walk to the dresser to start getting ready. I surprise myself with how energized I feel. Some mornings that just happens though, and I need to take advantage of it. I open my drawer and pull out my clothes for this run: compression underwear, tights, shorts, and a sweat-wicking shirt. Then I stumble over to my closet and get out my jacket. As I undress and start changing, I pick up my phone to depressingly check the temperature. I know it was supposed to snow a bit last night, and I’m not excited to deal with that. I read the time, a crisp 5:04 am. I open my weather app to see the big, low number: 25℉. How fun. The coldest day of the year down here in Louisiana. It never gets truly cold. Yesterday was probably the only snow day of the year, actually. Just my luck that the coldest day is my long run day. While getting dressed I do the math to figure out how long my run will be today (aka how long I’ll be in the freezing cold). It’s an easy day, so at my usual easy pace the 10 miles will take around 90 minutes. 90 minutes of below freezing wonderfulness. How joyous. I finally get on all my layers, after a lot of tugging and pulling. Compression stuff sticks to the skin, and it's so annoying. I go to my nightstand and grab my watch. It’s fully charged after last night. This thing is my lifeline on the run. It will tell me how much longer I have to go, how much time I have left to freeze. Maybe it won’t be bad. Not likely. I strap the watch on and go to grab my shoes. I look by the end of my bed and don’t see my shoes, however. Crap. I then remember that I left by the door after my run yesterday. Guess that’ll be what finally gets me out the room. 

I walk out from my bedroom into my apartment’s main room. Sure enough, I see my easy day shoes by the door, where I left them. I grab them, undo the laces, and slip them on. I pull the laces tight and tie them, double knotting of course. By this point, I’m sweating from all the layers in the indoor heat. Even more motivation to get outside to the freezing cold. I go and grab my water bottle, which I had filled the night before, and my keys from the counter and head out the door, to return after a long, difficult journey. 

The first thing I feel is the frigid air on the porch. My hands on the keys already feel freezing, and even in my jacket I can feel the chill in my torso and shiver. The sun hasn't risen yet, and the main light is from the lights of the parking lot of my apartment complex. I lock my door and put my keys into my shorts pocket. It’s annoying, but I can deal with the bounce of the keys over risking my apartment being broken into. I step out from the porch and get hit with a blast of wind that chills me to my very bones. Thrilling. I hit a few static stretches and put my water bottle down on the porch. I plod off to start my warm up laps of the parking lot. Two laps is about a kilometer, a perfect warm up. I never track pace or miles unless it’s a warm up for a session. That practice just makes it easier to focus on the warm up itself. Especially on days like this, where my hands and face and any other exposed skin are freezing. The wind isn’t gusting too much, but when it does, it’s like the legs are swept away from my spirit. I see my neighbor, who always gets up early to watch the sunrise, on her balcony and she waves. I wave back and get through the warm up. My hands are already cold, and hopefully they’ll go numb by a couple miles in. I begin my short series of dynamic stretches. My hips, hamstrings, quads, ankles, calves, and glutes need it in this cold. All the layers are much needed, I’m finally feeling a little warm. Still freezing. I finish my stretches and go grab a sip of water. The sun starts to peek out. It’s 5:37 now, and I’m finally ready to start this 10-miler. I put my water down and get my watch ready to connect so I can record the run. I hear the BING and feel the buzz as it finds the GPS. I walk out a few steps out of my apartment parking lot and onto the road.

I stride into my first steps and press my watch to start the run. The wind sweeps past me as my lungs fill and I let out a smooth exhale. I feel the road beneath my feet and watch the apartment complex fade to the side as my eyes focus on the road ahead. I feel anxious to settle into this run. The cold is bitter. The sun is just barely beginning to peak out of the horizon now. A dim blue begins to illuminate the area. I feel really good so far. I barely even notice as my watch bings to signal the first mile done. The split is slightly faster than what I hope, but I know I’ll settle into my easy pace and that the start is always a touch fast. The freezing cold numbs my hands and face. I get to the end of this section of road that connects the apartments and houses of my neighborhood to the highway. I turn off to my favorite (and the only) nearby trail, which goes all the way around the neighborhood, lasting miles. It’s my favorite place to do long runs because it’s a simple out and back trail that’s mostly flat. Today would take me about four miles into the trail, a good majority of it but not quite to the dead end. I like the trail because it’s very peaceful and isolated. I can get lost in my thoughts while surrounded by beautiful trees and a small canal running along the trail. The pace feels easy, and I can let my mind drift as my watch bings for the second mile. A small bit slower than the first split but it's cold and I’m still warming up. The cold makes me hate this beginning stage of the run. I think about why I decided to spend my weekend morning running ten miles in the freezing cold. Then, I stop myself because I of course already know the obvious answer: to get better. I’m a runner. To be a better runner, I have to run. I have to push myself to attain better. I’m excited for my next race. It’s my third 10k and I have a good feeling about a PR. The race is in a month and all my sessions have been feeling amazing. The whole block has felt amazing. I think about how this is only my fifth ten-miler ever, and how three months ago I did my first. That was after a few months of patient buildup and training, as well. Now, I consider it a fairly manageable long run. I’ve run a half before, but the 10k is my favorite distance. I think about why I love the 10k. It’s quite a fast race, but not as constantly painful as the 5k. I can push myself and the pace while still enjoying the effort I’m putting in.

I turn my attention back to the environment as a movement catches my eye. It’s a bird, a heron I believe, flies over the canal by the trail. It soars along and I can see it clearly now that the sun has risen. There are often fast sunrises here. Things can change quickly. The cold is almost unnoticeable now. I hear a bing from my watch and I look down to see it read 5 miles, 8’53”. A solid easy split and time to turn around. I hit a lazy U-turn and understand that the trees were doing a lot to block the wind. I get blasted with a strong gust of headwind and know that the way back might slow down a bit as I’m now fighting the headwind. It’s not as bad as I thought it would be, however, I settle back into my pace after the turn. My mind turns back to the 10k race. I envision the finish line, as I often do. Sometimes too much, honestly. I dream about the finish chute, sprinting with all the kick I have, I imagine looking over, or up or wherever that glowing red clock is and seeing that sweet, sweet 39 something. My PR is 40:03, and I know I can knock at least a few seconds off with a good race. The mental image of my best friend at the finish line, embracing me as the finish medal is handed to me and a bottle of water somehow finds its way to me, brings a smile to my face. I get fully absorbed in my little race fantasy, and the miles roll by. I’m reaching the end of the trail and about to get back on the road. I look down at my watch, which reads 8.42. I get back onto the road and think about what I’ll do after the run when I’m home. A warm shower, a warm meal, a whole lot of warmth. My daydreaming hasn’t rid me of the cold. I get excited for these luxuries that await me, and become eager to close out this run. I hear the chime of the ninth mile and find that I’ve grown more tolerant of the cold. The sun is fully out and beaming directly on me, and I absorb its warmth graciously. Pretty much everything is numb. I can even feel a bit of sweat from all my layers. I see my apartment building now as I come around a curve, meaning about a half mile to go. 

I don’t remember most of the run that just passed me by. It felt calm and easy, and now at its close, I'm sad that this small journey is over. I know I’ll need fluids when I get home, and anticipate that water bottle left out on my porch. The coldest day of the year, conquered by a runner, some clothes, and some mindless running. I feel proud of this 10-miler. Not just everyone can run ten miles on a weekend morning in freezing cold. Running makes a person different from everyone, though. There’s something about this sport that makes a person feel different. I acknowledge the work I put in today as I stop my watch, arriving at my porch. My neighbor waves again upon my return, just getting up and I wave back. I look at my watch and read a decent time and pace, but my long runs are very rarely about pace. I had a good run. I take my keys out my pocket, unlock my door, and walk in. I bend down to take my shoes off, and I feel a cold wetness from the snow that had fallen on the trail. Today’s the only opportunity I get to experience this phenomenon, and I soak it in. What a joy it is to run.