Finally, the weather I've been waiting for arrived Sunday. Despite layers of melting ice and slush all over the landscape, I found some time to return to running. Who knows how long the snow will take to melt, but we're supposed to hit the low 50s later this week, and that's OK by me.
As I've been doing since the Akron Marathon, I wore no watch and just ran aimlessly, going where my feet's muse took me, down the brick road to the edge of Mount Peace cemetery, past the holy mackerel painted on the retainer wall, through the well-off neighborhoods of West Akron, down the Bastard Garman Hill, over the slushy back streets as I wended over to Market Street, and up the endless incline of unshoveled sidewalks back home. I hopped puddles and bounded snow piles.
Neighbors -- and when you're a runner, everybody you see are your neighbors -- were out scrapping the ice from their driveways and were especially joyful to be outside and not cold. I wore shorts. One woman said as I passed, "I almost decided on shorts today too." The enthusiasm of the thaw always brings a smile to my face.
In my overexuberance, I may have overdone it. My legs felt like gelatinous goo afterward, and my core was so tight that my bellybutton hurt if I stood up too straight. But damn, it felt good.