It's hard to believe that somewhere people are wearing shorts, because it's sure not here. I'm back where I grew up, and the snow has come. I've already donned microspikes for runs, fallen on ice, and worn hats and mittens. Oh, winter. I have not missed you.
I'm sure I will get excited about skiing eventually, but today is not that day. Fortunately a slight warming trend brought a sunny day for trail running. I shuffled through the leaves, thanking the stars that I don't care about Strava or my pace. I cared about that stuff (though not Strava) for a long time. Now, I'm just glad I can still run. I enjoy it a lot more, even (gasp) stopping to take photos.
I looked through some of my old medals from decades ago and decided to toss them all. I'm not one to keep stuff; it just provides clutter. The first place ribbon? Don't need it anymore.
Another day I ran on the county road, up and down some ferocious hills. Drivers negotiating the sheet of ice that passed for a road gave me a wide berth, no doubt wondering who the crazy lady was. I lost my nerve on one particularly steep hill and turned around. Better to live to run again another day.
It's been a quiet, contemplative week on the frozen tundra, full of writing and running and deep thoughts. The land heads toward winter. I head for home.
Ps. I want this sauna, don't you?