Eight miles in 21 degrees. Saturday morning in February. I wouldn’t say I find running on days like this fun or enjoyable in any way, really. But if we waited for the weather to warm up, for the snow to melt, for the conditions to be bearable, we would not run until April. Maybe May. So we go.
Jill is better at this than I. She has goals and purpose. She always smiles when we start the run. While running, we talk a lot about running: what we eat, good places to run, what races we want to do, what races we don’t want to do.
About mile 3, we’ve warmed up and the cold is only on our faces. Now, it is dangerous to stop; the cold will sink into our muscles and once it gets close to the bone, you can’t outrun it anymore.
We pass other runners and aside from the hats and mittens, judging just by their pace and conversation, they seem to be running in July. I hope they think the same of us.
Several things keep me running through the winter. I want to keep up my endurance so I’m not starting from scratch in May. I sleep better when I run. I think better. I’m a nicer person, and if I do nothing else, I can say I got my run in.
And at the end, there’s McDonald’s hot chocolate. I eat nothing from McDonald’s. I never go there on my own and get a burger and fries. I would never drink a Shamrock Shake and though I admit their
But one day, driving home from the trail run, I spot the golden arches. I am shivering so badly I can hardly turn the radio dial. My eyebrows are frosted. I pull into the drive through, thinking that back home, I would make a hot chocolate anyway, so why not grab one here? Already made. Warm. Ready to go.
I swear I didn’t know about the whipped cream. I swear I didn’t know about the swirls of chocolate syrup and caramel syrup. I order a large and drink half in the parking lot with the heat on. This is worth the run, worth the cold. This is reward.
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