These days I start my runs in the dark. Its not easy to get excited about running in the dark, so I don't. I realized a while back that some things suck to start, but get better. Running is like that, especially in the morning, and especially when it's dark.
Lately it's been Dark, Foggy, and Icy. Before that, it was Dark and Stormy. Both have their challenges. Dark and Stormy requires me to suspend my dislike of getting sprayed with cold water, because that's what happens the moment I step outside. The truth is that running Dark and Stormy is like getting into cold water in a wetsuit. It sucks for about 3 minutes. Then you feel good. Unlike a wetsuit, peeing on yourself doesn't make it feel better. But 3 minutes is doable even without the peeing option.
Dark, Foggy, and Icy is an altogether different challenge. No, I'm not getting spritzed by the Pacific NW's best January drizzle, but I am having constant, multiple conversations with myself about the quality of my footing. Yesterday, In a fit of profound wisdom, I realized that there can truly be no good answer to the question "Am I about to plant my foot on moss, ice, or icy moss?"
Dark, Foggy, and Icy muffles sounds. I feel like I'm underwater. I can't hear my feet land, I can barely hear myself breathe. And that's saying something. I'm a registered loud breather, I can remember back in my mediocre bike racing days when one of the better riders remarked that I reminded him of an old train, going backwards. I feel like a deep sea diver. Not a casual tropical vacation snorkeler, because that implies that I can actually see stuff, and that the water is warm. I feel like I'm diving at the bottom of the Puget Sound. I can only see my feet, my immediate next step, and a tight cone of light that blinds me more than it illuminates. And my nose, which, ethnically speaking, has a profound curvature that intersects the light cone and throws a proud shadow.
In that kind of environment, there are a couple of things that make the miles go by:
(1) I give myself all kinds of credit just for being out there. Hey, it's 6AM, and a normal person would still be in bed.
(2) I let the small details of the experience seep in. Yesterday, in the fog, my new headlamp was throwing out a tight cone of light, with very sharp edges. I felt like a (slowly) moving geometry lesson.
(3) I focus on form. The ice doesn't lend itself to moving super fast, but the more I turn my legs over, the less likely I am to slip. So far, anyway. Running upright is another thing I pay attention to.
In any case, my 'hard day' with pace and distance goals was shelved for a totally hallucinatory running experience. Which, in the end, was critical in making sure the sucky part (starting) ended quickly.
Tomorrow I'm doing another 12 miler, just to confirm the first one wasn't a fluke. Its the longest I've run in a couple of years and I want the legs to build into that distance and be comfortable. No real pace goals, but if I'm feeling chippy I'll pick up the last 4 miles. It'll be a good birthday treat.
Lately it's been Dark, Foggy, and Icy. Before that, it was Dark and Stormy. Both have their challenges. Dark and Stormy requires me to suspend my dislike of getting sprayed with cold water, because that's what happens the moment I step outside. The truth is that running Dark and Stormy is like getting into cold water in a wetsuit. It sucks for about 3 minutes. Then you feel good. Unlike a wetsuit, peeing on yourself doesn't make it feel better. But 3 minutes is doable even without the peeing option.
Dark, Foggy, and Icy is an altogether different challenge. No, I'm not getting spritzed by the Pacific NW's best January drizzle, but I am having constant, multiple conversations with myself about the quality of my footing. Yesterday, In a fit of profound wisdom, I realized that there can truly be no good answer to the question "Am I about to plant my foot on moss, ice, or icy moss?"
Dark, Foggy, and Icy muffles sounds. I feel like I'm underwater. I can't hear my feet land, I can barely hear myself breathe. And that's saying something. I'm a registered loud breather, I can remember back in my mediocre bike racing days when one of the better riders remarked that I reminded him of an old train, going backwards. I feel like a deep sea diver. Not a casual tropical vacation snorkeler, because that implies that I can actually see stuff, and that the water is warm. I feel like I'm diving at the bottom of the Puget Sound. I can only see my feet, my immediate next step, and a tight cone of light that blinds me more than it illuminates. And my nose, which, ethnically speaking, has a profound curvature that intersects the light cone and throws a proud shadow.
In that kind of environment, there are a couple of things that make the miles go by:
(1) I give myself all kinds of credit just for being out there. Hey, it's 6AM, and a normal person would still be in bed.
(2) I let the small details of the experience seep in. Yesterday, in the fog, my new headlamp was throwing out a tight cone of light, with very sharp edges. I felt like a (slowly) moving geometry lesson.
(3) I focus on form. The ice doesn't lend itself to moving super fast, but the more I turn my legs over, the less likely I am to slip. So far, anyway. Running upright is another thing I pay attention to.
In any case, my 'hard day' with pace and distance goals was shelved for a totally hallucinatory running experience. Which, in the end, was critical in making sure the sucky part (starting) ended quickly.
Tomorrow I'm doing another 12 miler, just to confirm the first one wasn't a fluke. Its the longest I've run in a couple of years and I want the legs to build into that distance and be comfortable. No real pace goals, but if I'm feeling chippy I'll pick up the last 4 miles. It'll be a good birthday treat.
No comments:
Post a Comment