Sunday was a fun outdoor run day. Being Superbowl Sunday, I dawned my blue running gear in support of my chosen team. And as my coworker kindly phrases it, 'socially committed myself' to supporting The Patriots. (Socially not emotionally would be his distinction of commitment during this prime-time football event). Well, being from New England naturally I was all for the Patriots (good thing too since they wooooon!) So on the crispy winter afternoon I dawned my blue running gear and headed out into the 38 degree chilly air. (Side note: the air felt like it was at the highest, 30 degrees).
Running. Running. As I got to mile 5, I was in a groove and present in the moment. And by present, I mean I began to notice my stride and my body. My legs and thighs were numb, toes perfectly icy, and my fingers were chilled, and yet the size of sausages (swollen from running). Mentally, moving up from feet to my core, a bit of a shock, my core was hot And yes, I was sure under my layers - vest, long sleeves, shirt - I was sweating. Sweating in 38 degrees. But those arms were definitely stiff in their poised running position, which I am almost certain is an advantage in not feeling the fatigue of my body (for better or worse). And with the assessment of my appendages, I realized that the tip of my tongue, exposed to the frosty air, was on it's way to becoming an icicle, while my bottom lip was gradually entering the numbing state my nose had already succumbed too. What a sensation, a sweltering core and icy limbs; what a juxtaposition.
And as I ran, I had to snap this photo, because this was my view:
Blue Running Patriot, of the New England Variety, 2015
Snowy February 1st, Central Park, Manhattan, 2015