First not-freezing day we’ve had in weeks. I waited (read: procrastinated) all day in the hopes that the sun would do its job and melt away some of the stubborn (and now black and disgusting) ice covering the roads.
Yes, I could have driven somewhere else to run where the roads were clear, but it seemed foolish to DRIVE somewhere just to run three measly miles.
And, yes, I could have run more than three miles to compensate for the drive, but I didn’t feel like it. Stop badgering me.
Instead I sat around all day feeling sorry for myself and thinking up clever ways to sabotage my run: I’ll go running as soon as I eat some more of this great chili, everything will be fine…
When I finally got out there (after wearing my running clothes for two hours and spending 40 minutes creating the “perfect” running playlist of 849 metal songs, of which I listened to about seven), it was a balmy 39°, and I could even see actual bits of road peeking through the melting ice and snow. That melting part turned out to be the problem. Because when stuff melts, it turns to water. And when you have lots of stuff melting, you have lots and lots of water.
Within a quarter-mile, my shoes and socks were wet; a mile, each step produced an audible squish from inside my shoes; after a mile and a half my ankles were screaming at me and I had only the strength of my cursing to propel me home.
I ended up doing three and some change but instead of feeling pleasantly tired in an accomplished sort of way, I just felt cranky and frustrated.
No beer tonight; tomorrow I’m getting up early to crank out a decent seven or eight ON CLEAN STREETS, FOR THE LOVE OF GOD.