John was away for the weekend and my schedule was a little hairy, so I had to go it alone on Saturday morning for a long run. Normally this isn't the end of the world, but following 20 brutally cold minutes at the park walking the dogs, I knew it was not going to be the most pleasant of mornings. Following a bagel and 20 more minutes of trying to psych myself up while my wife shook her head in disbelief, I went out the front door. It was 18 degrees with a wind chill of 12. Within about 35 seconds I was ready to hop in a cab and head home, but vowed to fight through.
Weekend Long COLD Run - Details
Following my endurance food freezing, by sweat on my hat freezing to my headphones and loss of feeling in my chin, I made it home. I don't recall a better shower. I spent the rest of the weekend warming up and retelling my tale of woe, feeling increasingly proud of myself and how I ran through miserable weather. That was until I got John's text message Sunday afternoon stating he ran 12+ miles in NYC where is was somewhere around 47 degrees below zero. I am a wimp.
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