Last night I forced myself to force myself to get out of bed today. The resigned mental pep talk must have worked though, as I dragged myself, and my hubby-to-be out from under the warm, cozy, fluffy covers at 5:00 a.m.
I slunk to the bathroom and back, haphazardly putting on two pairs of tights in a haze of sleepiness. It was only as I prepared to pull the second pair the rest of the way up that I realized the first was on backwards...Jared shuffled drearily around the apartment, layering up. We at last forced ourselves out into the cold, windy air.
The run started as a slow, awkward gait, but within a mile or so, we found ourselves cruising along relatively well, considering the hour. The steep hill at around a mile and a half seemed easy, helped along by the strong, gusty wind.
At a mile to go, though, we paid the running gods back for that push, as we found ourselves running directly into the teeth of the beast, the wind having become a living, wild thing. We muttered the occasional complaint, the occasional coffee comment laced with yearning, and at last, we turned into Davis Square, ending with the aforementioned treat--a latte and a dark roast.
Though I hate the early morning hour, I love to be done with the run...and I think Jared would agree on this one.
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2 comments:
At minus 31 this morning, even the most hardened runner wouldn't be out here. Personally, I opted for boring miles on the treadmill, to go with the injury that has now been defined as "well, the good news is that it isn't a complete tear...."
Chilly, windy runs . . . those aren't days I miss. These days my kids prevent me from getting out for those cold ones and I, too, stick with the treadmill. Congrats on gritting your teeth, switching those tights back around and going for it!
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