It's a dangerous thing to yearn for snow in Wisconsin at this time of year.
We live with the stuff for at least a third to half of the time in most typical winters. Snow is cold and wet and heavy and slippery, and it makes life a lot more complicated. Snow slows us down -- we've got to shovel before we eat our breakfasts and scrape it off our windshields before we drive to work. It speeds us up in the most alarming of ways -- such as when we careen through intersections with our anti-lock brakes chattering. Or when we slide down our front steps, heels above head.
So for most of us, looking at a bare back yard with frosty green grass at the end of December would be a fine sight indeed. And it would have been for me, too, before I changed my attitude about snow.
I was at a low point deep in February when it came, shoveling the concrete-like snowbank left at the end of my driveway by a city plow. The wind was blowing hard, seeping down the back of me neck and settling in my spine. Snow pellets were hitting me in the face. But then I started thinking about what I was doing. I was breathing hard, lifting stuff, moving stuff. It really was a workout.
That's when I decided that snow would be my personal trainer, and that I would try to embrace it all because what it really did for me. It forced me outdoors during the dark days. It can be fun when you strap on the cross country skis swoosh along trails.
I'm about to go for a bike ride, and that will be fine. But I'd rather be gliding through the woods, truth be told. And although I'm OK with not shoveling or sliding through intersections, I'm also missing out on the strength training that is a natural part of winter.
So I guess I'm wishing for some snow right now. Just don't tell anybody.
Sunday, December 18, 2011
Saturday, December 17, 2011
The addiction
Went for a run this morning after week of sloth, no exercise whatsoever.
I'm not sure if I didn't exercise because the week was so stressful, or if the week was stressful because I didn't exercise. It doesn't matter. What does matter is that I woke up at 5:30 a.m. this Saturday morning, and was out in the dark 13 degree morning shuffling along.
Like all first runs after a lengthy layoff, this run was schizophrenic. My legs and knees felt stiff and slow in the beginning, but as I warmed up, they seemed to loosen up, and after a couple of miles, I felt just great.
It's as if a dark wool blanket was lifted off my mind, and my thoughts flowed freely, whereas just 20 minutes before they seemed to be mired in some kind of neurotic sludge.
A colleague told me that he believes that some runners are akin to drug addicts -- that in fact they are drug addicts because they need the endorphins and other natural mood enhancers that aerobic exercise can bring. It's certainly the case for me. So I need to run or bike or swim or do something to get my heart beating and blood flowing; that's OK. That's good.
What's bad is that all too often stress, worry, depression can overwhelm the feeling of wellness that I get from running.
That's when I have to go for a bike ride.
I'm not sure if I didn't exercise because the week was so stressful, or if the week was stressful because I didn't exercise. It doesn't matter. What does matter is that I woke up at 5:30 a.m. this Saturday morning, and was out in the dark 13 degree morning shuffling along.
Like all first runs after a lengthy layoff, this run was schizophrenic. My legs and knees felt stiff and slow in the beginning, but as I warmed up, they seemed to loosen up, and after a couple of miles, I felt just great.
It's as if a dark wool blanket was lifted off my mind, and my thoughts flowed freely, whereas just 20 minutes before they seemed to be mired in some kind of neurotic sludge.
A colleague told me that he believes that some runners are akin to drug addicts -- that in fact they are drug addicts because they need the endorphins and other natural mood enhancers that aerobic exercise can bring. It's certainly the case for me. So I need to run or bike or swim or do something to get my heart beating and blood flowing; that's OK. That's good.
What's bad is that all too often stress, worry, depression can overwhelm the feeling of wellness that I get from running.
That's when I have to go for a bike ride.
Sunday, December 11, 2011
Heat wave
Two days ago, I went for a 14-mile bike ride -- maybe 15 -- and crashed. It was 10 degrees out, and because of the layers I had on it was a little like jumping into bed. OK, maybe not that soft, but I came out of it unscathed. I rode a mountain bike.
Today I went for a 23-mile ride on my touring bike. It was 28 degrees when I started, and about 35 when I finished. It took me about an hour and 50 minutes, so I was slow, slow, slow, but it still felt great.
The greatest thing about it was that, at 28 degrees, it was a pleasant jaunt, one in which I could enjoy my surroundings, cruise along and let my mind wander a bit.
When it's 15 degree or colder, biking takes on a different vibe. I don't feel the freedom of thought on a ride in that kind of cold. Instead, your mind is constantly taking stock of the status of various body parts. Are my feet freezing? No, they're just a little tingly. Are my hands frostbitten? Well, maybe just the tip of my left thumb. Is my head cold? Well, my cheeks are stinging, but that's to be expected. Are my private parts OK? Hmm, well, so far so good.
And then the thought cycle starts all over again. If at any point the internal warning lights go on, it's time to cut the ride short or find a warm library, coffee shop or bar or in desperation, a mall.
On that list my feet are the most problematic. My feet are constantly cold in the winter, and biking makes the problem worse times three. So I use wool socks, neoprene booties that go over regular biking shoes. My feet still get cold, but so far this year it's been manageable.
The wee-wee is the most worrisome. If that gets frostbitten, you're in for a world of hurt. It's happened to me twice,and although there doesn't seem to be any lingering long term effects, it's a private part status I am most anxious to avoid. So when it's really cold, the running list goes like this: Feet, check; wiener, OK; hands, all right; wiener, still OK; head, feels good ... and so on.
My wedding tool worries have dissipated somewhat after my purchase of Sugoi wind-cutting boxer briefs. These have a sort of fleece lining with a windbreaker codpiece. Oh my gosh, but these are life-changing terrific.
Of course none of that mattered today. At 35 degrees, I felt as if I were on spring break. Although it was windy, it was a soft wind, not cutting or biting. The sun shown down and warmed my back. It was heaven.
Today I went for a 23-mile ride on my touring bike. It was 28 degrees when I started, and about 35 when I finished. It took me about an hour and 50 minutes, so I was slow, slow, slow, but it still felt great.
The greatest thing about it was that, at 28 degrees, it was a pleasant jaunt, one in which I could enjoy my surroundings, cruise along and let my mind wander a bit.
When it's 15 degree or colder, biking takes on a different vibe. I don't feel the freedom of thought on a ride in that kind of cold. Instead, your mind is constantly taking stock of the status of various body parts. Are my feet freezing? No, they're just a little tingly. Are my hands frostbitten? Well, maybe just the tip of my left thumb. Is my head cold? Well, my cheeks are stinging, but that's to be expected. Are my private parts OK? Hmm, well, so far so good.
And then the thought cycle starts all over again. If at any point the internal warning lights go on, it's time to cut the ride short or find a warm library, coffee shop or bar or in desperation, a mall.
On that list my feet are the most problematic. My feet are constantly cold in the winter, and biking makes the problem worse times three. So I use wool socks, neoprene booties that go over regular biking shoes. My feet still get cold, but so far this year it's been manageable.
The wee-wee is the most worrisome. If that gets frostbitten, you're in for a world of hurt. It's happened to me twice,and although there doesn't seem to be any lingering long term effects, it's a private part status I am most anxious to avoid. So when it's really cold, the running list goes like this: Feet, check; wiener, OK; hands, all right; wiener, still OK; head, feels good ... and so on.
My wedding tool worries have dissipated somewhat after my purchase of Sugoi wind-cutting boxer briefs. These have a sort of fleece lining with a windbreaker codpiece. Oh my gosh, but these are life-changing terrific.
Of course none of that mattered today. At 35 degrees, I felt as if I were on spring break. Although it was windy, it was a soft wind, not cutting or biting. The sun shown down and warmed my back. It was heaven.
Friday, December 9, 2011
Crashing in the cold
"Are you all right?"
The sweet little old lady asked me the question while sitting in the bus stop shelter, as she watched me disentangle myself from my bike. The bike and I were sprawled in the lane of traffic on Sturgeon Eddy Road, and my first thought was that the bus she was waiting for would come around the corner and forever press me into the blacktop.
It was at mile 13 of a 14-mile loop I was riding in 10-degree weather.
I quickly stood up, and dragged my body and bike off the street. Once on the sidewalk, I moved my joints, checked my legs and looked for fresh blood. Everything worked, and nothing was leaking out of my body, except for the clear viscous snot dripping out of my nose. I wiped it with a leather mitten and turned to the lady.
"You know I think I am all right," I said.
"That was a nasty fall," she said. "You were going quite fast."
I'm not exactly sure how fast I was going. It did not seem to be an unreasonable or reckless speed at the time, but the result proved that judgment to be overly optimistic.
All I did was come around a corner of Grand Avenue, a stretch of road that requires bicyclists to use the sidewalk, and turn onto Sturgeon Eddy. I glanced back over my left shoulder to see if traffic was clear and angled to make the move from sidewalk to street at a driveway. What I didn't see was a small frozen mound of snow, which I hit dead on. My front wheel jumped up, and down, and my mittened hands were jerked from the handlebars.
I went down, sliding and rolling into the lane of traffic. All in front of the little old lady in the bus shelter, who watched it all with wide eyes.
My helmet protected my head, and three layers of warm clothes, including neoprene booties on my feet, protected everything else. I apologized to the lady for scaring her, for crashing in front of her, for causing her worry.
And then I rode home. It actually was a great ride.
The sweet little old lady asked me the question while sitting in the bus stop shelter, as she watched me disentangle myself from my bike. The bike and I were sprawled in the lane of traffic on Sturgeon Eddy Road, and my first thought was that the bus she was waiting for would come around the corner and forever press me into the blacktop.
It was at mile 13 of a 14-mile loop I was riding in 10-degree weather.
I quickly stood up, and dragged my body and bike off the street. Once on the sidewalk, I moved my joints, checked my legs and looked for fresh blood. Everything worked, and nothing was leaking out of my body, except for the clear viscous snot dripping out of my nose. I wiped it with a leather mitten and turned to the lady.
"You know I think I am all right," I said.
"That was a nasty fall," she said. "You were going quite fast."
I'm not exactly sure how fast I was going. It did not seem to be an unreasonable or reckless speed at the time, but the result proved that judgment to be overly optimistic.
All I did was come around a corner of Grand Avenue, a stretch of road that requires bicyclists to use the sidewalk, and turn onto Sturgeon Eddy. I glanced back over my left shoulder to see if traffic was clear and angled to make the move from sidewalk to street at a driveway. What I didn't see was a small frozen mound of snow, which I hit dead on. My front wheel jumped up, and down, and my mittened hands were jerked from the handlebars.
I went down, sliding and rolling into the lane of traffic. All in front of the little old lady in the bus shelter, who watched it all with wide eyes.
My helmet protected my head, and three layers of warm clothes, including neoprene booties on my feet, protected everything else. I apologized to the lady for scaring her, for crashing in front of her, for causing her worry.
And then I rode home. It actually was a great ride.
Sunday, January 16, 2011
Poser
My favorite running jacket is a New York City Marathon coat.
It's black, high-tech, full of reflective piping, warm and comfortable.
I bought a few years ago before going for a run in Central Park. I was completely unprepared for the snow that was falling.
When running in New York, I change and lock up my stuff at the offices of the New York Road Runner's Club, located right on Central Park. There was some discounted gear from the previous fall's race, and I decided to buy the coat.
Although it's great, I feel a bit guilty every time I put it on, because it leaves the impression that I actually ran one of the world's greatest races. Every time I see someone while I'm wearing it, I want to explain the whole story.
So I mostly wear it in the winter, when most of my runs are in the dark and no one can see the stitched New York Marathon logo.
I probably should just run the race. It would remove all this angst.
It's black, high-tech, full of reflective piping, warm and comfortable.
I bought a few years ago before going for a run in Central Park. I was completely unprepared for the snow that was falling.
When running in New York, I change and lock up my stuff at the offices of the New York Road Runner's Club, located right on Central Park. There was some discounted gear from the previous fall's race, and I decided to buy the coat.
Although it's great, I feel a bit guilty every time I put it on, because it leaves the impression that I actually ran one of the world's greatest races. Every time I see someone while I'm wearing it, I want to explain the whole story.
So I mostly wear it in the winter, when most of my runs are in the dark and no one can see the stitched New York Marathon logo.
I probably should just run the race. It would remove all this angst.
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