I remember one run last winter. It was fairly early in the morning, but the sun was up. (I don’t run in the dark by myself.) Manchild 2 was too small for the stroller, so I was running alone while Micah and the menchildren slept. I ran down to Prospect Park, through the park to Center Drive, then left the park and ran up Prospect Park Southwest to Prospect Park West. As I turned the corner there, I felt as though someone were pushing me up Prospect Park West. I was running faster than I had run in months and I couldn’t go any slower if I tried. I was wearing toe socks with my FiveFingers, leggings and yoga pants, a shirt, a jacket, a headband. It was cold, but my body was warming up so the cold felt good, exhilarating. I came in from my run giddy and energized, ready to take on the day.
These days I look back on that run fondly. I’d take the layers of clothing, the numb fingers and toes and nose, the snow and the ice any day over this perpetual sauna. The sticky skin, the sweat dripping off my chin and arms, the sluggish pace and frequent water breaks — summer is something to be endured. Winter is something to be enjoyed.
I probably said the same thing, in reverse, six months ago. What we really need is for Spring and Fall to last 6 months each. Who’s with me?