There's just something about kicking my own ass on a run that keeps me coming back for more. It's been hard to find the motivation to get out there and run, especially now that winter has hit, but after today I think you'll find me on the local trails and tracks a lot more.
It was a chilly 19 degrees this morning. Having just come home from a vacation in the much warmer West, I entered denial mode and threw on little running leggings, a cotton tee shirt, a light sweatshirt, and my running shoes. "It can't be THAT bad outside." I tied my hair back, didn't grab a water bottle because "I wouldn't need it," and headed out to my friend's car. And we were off.
Enter Sunken Meadow State Park: serene, undisturbed acres of nature, full of frolicking fuzzies of every kind. Complete with boardwalk-bordered beach, peaceful waterfall, a little marshland oasis, slow-flowing lazy river, and a number of meandering gravel and/or dirt trails just dying for people to use them. Sound nice? It totally is. In the summer. For family picnics,or goofing off at the beach, going to the seafood festivals, toasting marshmallows, looking at the stars. Running there is a different animal altogether.
As soon as I hopped out of the car and took a few confident steps toward the trails, I was blasted in the face by an overly friendly breeze, and I recoiled with an embarrassing squeak. I looked at my friend and we shared expressions of impending torment and a moment of realization: today is going to suck. The wind was whipping through the trees, forming a kind of windy vortex tunnel of doom. Every breath was a freezing jolt to my lungs. The peaceful marshlands? Frozen. We sighed and started running.
After 14 minutes, we reached our destination: now the torture could REALLY begin. Cardiac Hill, my oldest nemesis. We set the bar relatively low, given our present states of fitness and the state of the weather: run up Cardiac, loop around for a little recovery jog, repeat the hill/jog circuit two more times, and cool down back to the car. Not so bad, in theory. Except Cardiac Hill has its name for a reason, and is actually composed of three different hills. Up, little plateau, up, little plateau, up - then down if you're still willing or able to move after that, and haven't keeled over. It takes about a minute to get up that hill, but it feels like so much longer.
The workout went swimmingly. We ran, we saw, we (were) conquered. Fast forward to just after the cool down, back at the car. Observe: I was pleading with my hands, begging them to prove they still worked and/or had any blood flow in them. My friend was having similar problems, though somewhat less vocally. Opening the car door proved to be a hysterical challenge for me - it's weird to touch something and apply a force to it with an appendage that has no feeling in it, but apparently I found it to be deserving of a laugh. It was less funny when, sitting in the car with the heat blasting at 90 degrees, my hands went from being numb to aching and pulsing. Ah, the beginnings of frostbite - you've got to love New York winters. Sure, I dressed completely wrong for this little adventure, but that just adds to the fun, right?
My inner drama queen has obviously made an appearance in this post, but in all seriousness, I'm really glad I went today. I'm glad I finally got off my ass after being on vacation, and I didn't bail on the workout. I know I put in the work today (my quads can confirm this), and I plan on continuing to do so. There's nothing better than the feeling of satisfaction you experience after a good run; the one that tells you you should be proud of what you did, but also that you sure as hell had better keep it up. That's the feeling I'm going to keep coming back for. Pretty pumped to get into this routine again. See you on the trails!
