Wednesday, 3 February 2016

It Was Perfect For Running. Apparently.

The beach. Fireplaces. Hot chocolate. The sun. Hell.

Hate is a strong word and I'm doing everything in my power to avoid thinking it or feeling it.

Wood stoves. Martinique. Heated seats. Slippers. Tea. The fiery bowels of Hades.

It's Tuesday and I'm about to join the group run. Outside. It's 0 degrees (32 F for my American friends) and I'm trying to remember why I agreed to this. I vaguely recall three females on exercise machines suggesting that the weather had improved and we should join the other PRCers for a change of scenery. I guess I agreed.

Saunas. Hot tubs. Wool socks. Tenerife. Tanning beds. Quilts. Chai Lattes. A blazing inferno in the underworld. 

Yet somewhere between that conversation and today, two-thirds of those females suddenly have other commitments. I was also about to have "plans" when I realized that Hardcore Lori was going to go with or without us. There was no way I could let her go alone.

Not that she would be running alone in the cold, dark streets of Topsail Pond . There would be lots of others from PRC there and I know she would find a group to run with. I just had to be sure that she didn't.

See, Lori is the elite member of our little group. She's faster and more committed to her exercise routine than the rest of us. For example, yesterday while I went for a leisurely ride on the recumbent bike, Lori was doing two minute planks and kettlebell twists. If she misses a workout, she does a make up session while I'm more likely to delete "gym" from my iPhone calendar. If Lori ever realizes how great she is, she's bound to move on to a more dedicated group that can keep up with her pace and if she does, I'm fairly certain many more of our gym nights will turn into tea parties.

Tonight, it's up to me to keep our little group in one piece.

I know I'll need something to drink on my run, but I really don't want to wear my fuel belt. I ask Renee to set up a water table but no such luck. At 5:59 I stuff one of my fuel bottles in my pocket, get out of my car and head out of the parking lot with Lori in tow before she can find anyone else to join us. Crisis averted.

I hate running in the cold. I hate being outside in the cold. I hate the cold full stop.

Aruba. Fire pits. Hot stone massage. Irish coffee. Fleecy pajamas. Hot Paws. A pleasure cruise down a lava filled River Styx.

My new PRC shirt is refusing to stay around my waist and seems more interested in congregating in my armpits, most likely looking for a source of heat. I can feel the cold air on my back as I try in vain to return my shirt to its proper location. Lori is chatting away about how great the weather is for running. I'm tempted to push her in the ditch.

St. Thomas. Pumpkin Spice Lattes. Bon Fires. Seal skin boots. California. A boiling vat of oil.

We run for 5 kilometers and as we head back to the muddy parking lot and our vehicles, I have to admit it and agree with Lori how nice it is to be running outside again, despite the cold. It's great to see all the familiar faces and have fresh air in my lungs. I was able to run at my normal pace so I'm sure things will work out when we start our half marathon training in the spring. This was the little boost I needed for my morale.

Before heading home I check my phone, which has been buzzing like crazy during the run. I hope the others realize the sacrifice I have made tonight. You are forever in my debt.

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