Cold Winter Running

What does it take to get up at somewhere around 5 am, when everyone else is still asleep, to put on the tights, the gloves, the hat, the balaclava, to step outside and wait for the Garmin to synch, when it is well less than freezing?

I could stay in bed and catch up on my sleep, but still I answer the alarm, stumble around for a few minutes, and then face the cold and the dark.

Running in the summer is easier -- no need to dress up because it is already warm and, for a few weeks anyway, light outside.  The legs are free and loose after a couple of minutes.  Few things are as pleasant and revitalizing as running into the sunrise

Running in winter is the opposite.  I know I complained about how hot it was this last summer, how my "speed" had been dragged down by the heat and humidity.  Now, though, I wonder if I would trade a week of frigid running for one morning of cold, dark running.

Running in winter is hard.  On the really cold mornings, or the mornings when it is spitting snow or sleet, I am usually the only one out on the roads.  Where is the jogging gang that runs all across the street without reflective gear?  Are they all in their homes running on treadmills?  Or sleeping in, staying warm beneath the covers?

Running on cold winter mornings is empowering.  While I run wearing state of the art tech gear, not buckskins or even what runners wore 25 years ago, I'm still out facing the elements, the night, the cold and whatever else is out there.  I'm looking ahead while clearly staying in the present.  I listen to -- sense -- my left hanstring tightening up.  I feel the tenderness around my right knee.  Occasionally I see an owl swoop over the road.  I've run when it was so dark that I couldn't see the road, and wound up trying not to stumble when I ran onto the shoulder.  I did this, I can do this, I will do this.

After I finish, I did it.

That's why I run outside on cold winter mornings.  Regardless of what else comes during the day, I did it.