I stared out the window into the swirling snow globe that lay beyond the single pane of glass.
As the coffee percolated I silently thanked the earlier version of my own self that was saavy enough to pack my trail shoes, affording me more traction in slick conditions such as these.
Overnight, winter had arrived.
Piling on the layers of dryfit gear, I down the final drops of java and step into the frosty landscape that heretofore failed to grace my little nook of the Great White North.
I had forgotten what it’s like to be an intrepid runner, how exhausting it is to slip with every step I take.
My lungs are quickly reminded though. So too are my quads. Mentally I tell myself to think of this new iced up terrain as cross-training — if I can stay upright, I can get stronger. And faster.
So I continue onward. Into what is at once both unknown and familiar. In the hopes of being better. With the tacit promise that these harsher training conditions will make me a better runner in this a brand new year.