Running in New England is never boring. Especially in winter. Especially THIS winter.

If I wasn't so stubborn, I would relegate myself to the treadmill or just go into hibernation until green becomes the new white. Instead, each morning I suit up for battle in my quest to outwit and outlast Mother Nature's best attempt at being Elsa. 

Some days I nail it.  Other days Mother Nature nails me. Sometimes the reciprocal nailing happens on the same run. Those runs get a special "Jekyll & Hyde" notation in my training log. Last Thursday was one of those runs.

In what's become the norm this winter, I awoke to grey skies and single digit temperatures. I've actually started liking single-digit temps because I don't stress about what to wear since the risk of overheating is virtually nil.

In fact, I think I've perfected the art of layering: three layers on top (wicking base layer, insulating mid-layer and wind-resistant jacket), two on the bottom (fleece tights plus wind pants), wool socks, earband and a gaiter that I pull over my head and nose so only my eyes are showing.  Don't tell my mom, but I've been known to wear the exact same outfit several runs in a row since no sweat = no stink.

As I started running, big snowflakes wafted around me. A layer of fresh snow dusted the landscape making it pure and clean again. Nary a car was out so I enjoyed the serene stillness of the neighborhood. It was like running in a snow globe, so peaceful and beautiful.  I got so caught-up in the magic that I ran an extra mile.  Bad idea.

My route was an out-and-back. I hadn't noticed that the wind was at my back on the way out which meant that it was directly in my face on the way back.  As soon as I turned around, the wind started to howl and acted like a brick wall pushing me backwards. For every two steps I ran forward, the wind pushed me back one. I felt like I was running in place.   

The snowflakes stopped wafting and instead their icy cores pelted my face and stung my cheeks. My eyes teared-up to the point that I couldn't see anything and my nose ran so much that I feared dehydration.

The beautiful snow-covered roads turned into sheets of ice where there was no salt - and pools of slush where there was salt.  A parade of cars came out of nowhere, forcing me into a snowbank and showering me with cold slush as they sped past.  I cursed that extra mile all the way home!     

After runs like these, I find solace in the adage that what doesn't kill us makes us stronger and the belief that the day will come (sooner I hope!) where we'll go for a run on dry roads, dressed in just one layer. Oh how fast and free we'll feel! 

Hang in there!

Steph