The year has just begun and an onslaught of excuses to skip my runs has already entered my pickled little brain. For, you see, the dead of winter is just beginning in Northeast Ohio. That dirty bitch Lake Erie keeps us warm late into the winter months and extends the cold and snow to make for an especially cruel January, February and March.
It is during these months that I started running in the first place, just shy of two years ago. And that is what I have to keep reminding myself: Running trumps winter. A nip of whiskey doesn't hurt either.
Two years ago, I began my life as a runner with a layer of ice bouncing beneath a pair of three-year-old cross trainers that were a size too small and I immediately developed shin splints. One year ago, I ran a prediction race (perhaps the only type of race I might actually win) on Groundhog Day when the temperature was -4 degrees F. Yesterday, I got home late from work and it felt like it was midnight. The temperature bit somewhere among the single digits. And there it was, Forget the run. "It's too cold, too late, there's too much snow on the ground, I'm too hungry and so on." It was too easy.
But why? Running makes me warm. I know this. Running also relieves my work stress. And let's not forget that running makes the beer taste so darned good. And if fluid replacement isn't worth the run, then my dear friends I'm a lost cause.