The sleet brought temps down, then the fat flakes fell and gave everything a good white coat. The temps rose and fell throughout the run. Sleet and snow took turns falling. It stung my tongue, whipped into my mouth. At times I had to brush it from my clothing. I like cold. Wind, not much.

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I ran across the bridge, up over the high hill of its bank, then ran the next valley that lay to the west. California, PA has a fairly impressive state university campus. The streets were thick with aggressive, troublesome drivers, the roads iced and dangerous. I took many opportunities to run side-roads or on the other side of guardrails. Immediately on the other side of the river the temp dropped. I ran up a hill and into a stretch of road with no lights. The bare branches of the woodlands were all uniformly encased in snow and frost. Glazed. 

I mostly run on the road itself. I have to leap off the road a couple of times to avoid plow trucks. It was easy to run on the salt and gravel they dished out. On the shoulders, the snow could conceal puddles, nails, broken glass, little stabby things.

I ran through some cross country track and soccer fields. A thin layer of ice had developed under the snow, atop the muddy pasture. It was like running on a creme brûlée. I’m so frickin’ hungry, agh!

I got lost three or four times during the run. The snowfall, the cold winds, they wore me down. I had to stop at a gas station to have a hot cup of coffee. The clerk asked me, checking my debit card – don’t try to rob me, I know karate, I’m the one with the fanny pack that says “Bad MotherEffer” – 

“- um, does your card read,” she cocks her head and stares at some random spot on the ceiling before looking back at me, “Captain Fantasy?”

“Yes”, I reply assuredly. I sign my ATM card with that because I know how difficult it would be to fake that signature. “I used to write ‘Chuck Norris’ but no one believed me.” I’m an idiot.

This is about as rich a social life as I’m able to manage. And that’s okay [patting myself on the back, then squeezing my own buttocks, giving myself a look of extreme displeasure] because I have my thoughts to entertain me. And bright orange shoes, Jesus it looks like I’m running in a pair of safety cones. Which reminds me of a song a bout a guy so lonely he settles for a picture of Luke Perry’s feet ripped from the back cover of an old Rolling Stones magazine. 

I run to meditate. Maybe I shouldn’t.

The run home was really hard. My headlamp was dying, the roads were slick and I had to deal with heavy, wet snowfall and strong winds, a regular snowstorm. I conserved the batteries by only switching on when needed. I didn’t need it much. I basically skated across the bridge. It looked like I was ice skating without skates. Oh, running. Froze my arms. It took a half hour for my body to warm back up wrapped around a mug.

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After the snowstorm

The extremely cold weather returns next week. One night will hit -16C/2F. Blech.

I logged 16 miles.  Janathon total miles: 170.