Janathon, running bout 10° F. Just bruising my way through an ugly 10K on some flat roads. I ranged a couple of turns in the river, using a bridge to hit both sides. I wore a parka and a pair of jogging pants. Hat, gloves. The wind was swirling the streams of an overhead jet like a barrista goofing with some foam. The ice was pretty bad in places, but I was able to maintain a 8 min/mile pace in my torn-up trainers. Only enough grip to make you think you had enough, and snap, nothing at all. I already fell down my stairs last week. I did some full-foot slides down some slick brick paths, used the churned black road slush when I could. It had refrozen, useless. The bridge was exceptionally cold, but the bright clear day was a welcome sight, especially on a Friday.
There are basically no runners in town (there’s basically no town, either), so people just gawk at me. One old man chipping ice off his car shouted at me in passing, “Keep it up, young man!” So I shouted back, “Stop doing that, old man!” Just kidding. But just once I’d like to do that.
I got an hour in. Did some planks at home. I slept deep for ten hours.