Oh, nipple chaffage, how I missed you! My four-plus miles through the neighborhoods last night proved just how much I overdid it last time. Oops, I overdid it again.
Sometimes I forget just how hilly my side of Akron is. I mean, it is called "West Hill." There's got to be some reasoning behind that moniker.
I was happy to be wearing just a single layer, plus my vest half-zipped (and worn mostly to carry stuff), but even that was being overdressed for the 50-degree weather.
The snow and thick ice crust have continued to melt, and I can now see grass for the first time this year. The front yard of our apartment building, however, could still be used as a makeshift ice rink. But the roads are mostly clear.
I love when you can actually feel the air temperature change when you encounter an obscenely large pile of slush. I don't love the feeling of chafed tender bits, but it's kind of soothing in a way -- like the return of an old friend, a friend that you never particularly cared for, but whom you hung out with anyway. That's nipple chaffage, and it's back.
Wherein some people might be just a bit jealous of my avoiding shitty weather.
Spike also seems to enjoy the first taste of freedom that warming weather provides: "It is on days like that when more than just the hard core runners step outside, and I love to see them eagerly enjoying the first run of the year...it helps me forget that I've been running in snowy crap for weeks."
Answer: Early spring races are for chumps. Have fun in Boston, chump.
Nitmos feels left out of the adventures of running in Ohio: "You sound like you got more snow than us. I can see half of my lawn at least. Further proof that God likes Ohio least..."
Answer: There's still a Michigan. Further proof that there is no God.
Happy Hour is nearly upon us, teammates. Have a finely brewed weekend. Run well and drink well. Cheers!