Growing up in England the mere sight of the white stuff was enough to whip up a frenzy of excitement. With mum and me on sentry duty one posted at the front of the house and the other at the back making sure that it was still snowing those 30 feet apart. We rarely had any great accumulation, but being England the smallest amount of snow could result in school shutting up shop. Those days were spent sledding (we all seemed to have one despite the usual lack of snow) and waging village wide snowball wars. So when I moved to Canada mum got regular text updates about the snow conditions, and even when my Canadian friends and colleagues complained about the miserable conditions I never stopped believing that snow could be anything but fun. 7am January 15th this belief came to a crushing end. A few earlier snow runs had been early indicators that this may happen, but I had been managing to convince myself of the nobility of man vs nature. But no amount of childhood memories could warm my heart let alone my eyes, yes oddly my eyes were freezing I quiet literally had eye-cicles forming as we ran, the snow sucked.
What was worse was the way that the snow seemed to be sucking the energy out of my legs; the pace was agonizingly slow yet by legs felt as though I had sprinted the first 4km. I trudged on chatting away to Heather as much as I could to keep from focusing on my legs, but gradually the conversation waned and I was left with my own thoughts and more and more those thoughts were focusing on just how miserable this run was becoming. We plowed (get it?) on until we hit uncleared pavement 200m further and I was done, not only was it miserable we were now needlessly risking injury. We agreed to head back to clearer ground and continue on, but the damage was done, my mental resolve had been left behind at the 4km marker, we decided (Heather’s account may differ) to cut it short. However I will admit that I may have taken every subsequent opportunity to cut it even shorter! As we dragged ourselves back home we did take some small comfort in the fact that in a city packed with runners on that morning, we were two of a lonely few.
After a cruel Saturday, Monday’s snowless -28 Celsius was a blessed relief, hammered a fast 7km. Running we are back on speaking terms, snow show up for skiing next weekend and you might just find your way back onto my Christmas card list.