Earlier this morning I made a note to myself: When you plan to run Friday afternoon instead of Saturday morning, do not talk yourself out of it. You will regret it Saturday morning. However, shortly after I made that mental note, I realized I was enjoying my run quite a bit and ceased to repine.
We got snow in the Mohawk Valley Thursday night. Friday it started sticking to the ground. Not a huge amount. We did not have to break out the shovels. Still, it was snow, and it was not warm, even by the standards of someone who spent years living in the North Country (that would be me). I almost talked myself out of it again. After all, I could run in the afternoon, when it might be warmer but would certainly be daylight. Surely a better time to run.
No, no, I told myself. Just put on some leggings and long sleeves. Find your winter running socks. Get going. Steven had cleaned out the living room closet yesterday so it was no problem finding a hat and gloves. I put on a sweatshirt for good measure. I hesitated about the sweatshirt, because I also intended to wear my reflective vest. If the sweatshirt got too warm it would be awkward to take off with the vest on top of it. Then I thought, it’s under 30 degrees. Put on the sweatshirt.
Snow covered the sidewalk but not thickly. I ran with a low, shuffling gait, in case of slick spots. You would think with the amount of padding I carry around my hips and midsection that falling would hold no terrors for me. Well, let me tell you, fat can bruise painfully, too. Spoiler alert: I didn’t fall today.
I was happy I had worn the gloves and hat. I only wished I had something covering my face, because that got cold in a hurry and never warmed up. No matter, I didn’t intend to run very far. 20 minutes would be sufficient, I told myself. I have been running 25 minutes. I thought I ought to think about increasing it by the recommended 10%. After all, I’ve been running for more than a week. Not as many times as I perhaps ought to be running, but I can work on that. For now I just kept going.
Occasionally my trailing foot would slip as I shifted weight to my leading foot. Nothing too worrisome at the speed I was going. I did not increase my pace. I felt so comfortable. Sometimes when I run a slow pace I feel it is too slow. I feel I am plodding like a fat snail, just slogging along in a pathetic, embarrassing fashion. Today it did not feel too slow. I felt awesome! I was so glad I was running!
I knew I would not end on a sprint. Too dangerous. I decided as I went which way to go. When I had mapped out in my head which streets would bring me back home, I thought I would just get home when I got there and that would be how long I ran. I was on the opposite side of the street. As I approached the house, though, I ran by to the corner then crossed the street and ran back. Yeah, I felt bad ass.
It ended up being 27 minutes, an increase of less than 10% but an increase nonetheless. As Tabby graciously walked my cool-down with me I started to feel cold. I suppose that means I did work up a sweat, even at my slow, shuffly pace. I still felt pretty damn good about myself. I will build up my run time. I will be bad ass.