Loving the Inclement Weather

Posted by on December 17, 2008 in Training

Last night was NYC’s first snowfall of the season. I had previously planned on getting out to do a run, and to extend what had been a limit of 4 miles on a route that normally takes me from my apartment, across the 102nd transverse in Central Park, and back. When I learned that the weather looked to be bad, I figured that like most times, the reports would be inaccurate and that I’d be able to get a nice longer run in.

As I walked home from the subway to my place, it was with an umbrella in hand since the snow became quite heavy. I am admittedly just like I was as a kid when it comes to snow; it has this “No School!” effect on me where all I want to do is get onto a mountain and ski or board. I credit Dad for this phenomenon since he had me on skis at age 5, and the experiences of countless days since where the spirit of alpine life and natural beauty feels like something in my blood.

It was with this sentiment that I was resolved to run. It was by no means a difficult decision; I get this strange kick out of running in the hardest of weather elements. Something about it makes me feel tough, almost Rambo-like, which creates an internal pride. I got home, got geared up quickly, and set out to meet my girlfriend who was running up from her place on the east side. The plan was to run towards each other in the park until we met up, and to figure out a plan thereafter.

I knew it was 34 degrees outside and was torn between going with the warmer clothing vs. something more mid-range. I opted for the latter because I am a tremendous heat-producer; I don’t understand how or why this is, but I can sweat in the coldest of temps. So, it was with shorts, a long-sleeved base layer, and a fleece running jacket (and dry-fit hat and gloves) that I set out.

The snow was at least an inch or two in thickness and kicked up onto my calf from the shoe of the opposite foot with each stride. Eventually, I stopped noticing and got into a rhythm. I could feel the eyes of cars and pedestrians looking at the freak running in shorts in a snow storm, but I was focused and way enthused. My first mile split was 8:13 which was in sharp contrast from my first run a mere two weeks earlier (around 8:40), and with a lower heart rate and plenty of gas in the tank. Once I got into Central Park, I found an oasis of beauty and tranquility. I saw maybe a total of 3 or 4 people running but other than them, I was by myself and in love with the experience. There exists this critical mass between working hard and discovering peace; I found it as I ran hard uphill, focusing on every foot strike so that I’d neither slip nor lose the traction to provide forward thrust, all the while feeling snowflakes hit my cheeks and hearing the light crunches of compacted snow under my sneakers. These subtle details by themselves were immaterial, but they all contributed to something just short of surreal. That my heart rate was of no consequence to me was probably because the hard effort was offest by the pure joy of where I was; I simply don’t know if I red-lined or not.

I wound up doing 7.5 miles. Every step of it was fun. Seeing the opposing views of lights on the Bandshell and on Victoria Fountain, both being lightly bathed with these beautiful snowflakes, while I made fresh tracks between them… it was a sight to be seen. I took a mental snapshot and I refer to it now as I write this. It’s only now that I recall a few fateful days racing in 100% humidity and debilitating heat on that same path, but that’s why I love that NYC gets a full four seasons. Those days of suffering never entered my psyche last night and I can only hope that I will remember last night the next time I’m racing in dizzying conditions.

Imagine if we get a blizzard this year?!

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