There Must Be Some Triathletes Freezing Their Tits Off In The Atmosphere
This time of year is trying (TRI-ing?!) in so many ways. It’s that horrible dead spot where football has ended and baseball has yet to begin, MLK Day has come and gone leaving nary a 3 days weekend in sight until the glory that is Memorial Day shakes us from our seasonal affective doldrums, (that’s totally what SAD stands for), and, most topically, it’s that frigid pre-season epoch where summer seems so impossibly far away it becomes easy and enticing to skip training.
I can’t take my bikes out in the ice/slush/salt nightmare to which the city and its surroundings have been reduced. Even in the centrally-heated indoors the idea of stripping into a swimsuit to slog 25 meters back and forth seems both bone-shattering and needless. Because it’s barely March, and barely March is at least 19 months from tri-season kickoff in May.
And then there’s my beloved running. Ya know, that thing I love more than the health of my joints or bones? But. I truly hate the treadmill. I need for my long runs to take place outside. (At least for me,) that not-so-elusive runner’s high is bred from the changing scenery and the breathing of un-recycled outdoor air. Treadmills fuck up your footfalls and weight-distribution, and make you hold your arms like a T-Rex with a slight stroke of palsy. (Funny story for some other time – last year my orthopedist told me he thinks I have a palsy causing my left-leg-lameness, so I don’t really need help in that category.)
So working myself up to 15+ mile long runs by the first 2015 race has become a bit of a chore. (Also it didn’t happen.) Plus, and again, March 14th is at least eleven weeks away so what’s the rush? (It’s in less than a week. I just checked. [Related side note: Why is it March?])
I’ve actually been historically pretty proud of my ability to force work-outs in (at least DC’s version of) inclement weather. In last year’s uncharacteristically crappy winter one of my favorite long runs was during some pretty terrible freezing rain when the Mall was empty of all but a few intrepid (insane) runners splashing through sleet, leaning into sideways rain pellets, and leaping ice patches. (That includes zero tourists. That’s the dream!)
Even in happy weather I love the nods of understanding and approval shared between those of us out pounding the pavement. On this special (stupid) occasion though, those of us committed (should-be-committed) enough to brave the elements lauded each other with high fives and shouts of encouragement, and much humble-bragging at intersections. ‘What are we doing out here?!’ ‘I don’t know, we must be crazy.’ At one point I shouted over the rain to some equally-misguided and soaked-to-the-bone soul that, ‘this is the worst hobby ever!’ Then we laughed and congratulated each other (ourselves) for our hard work.
This year though, conditions have been legitimately dangerous and unrunnable. The sidewalks in my neighborhood have stood as makeshift ice rinks for weeks. (If you’re lucky enough to have a row home in Logan circle btw, shovel your [expletive-deleted] sidewalk.) The intersections are pools of black depth-less puddles. I supposed if I cared more I could run in my wellies, but who knows how many stress fractures I’d amass that way.
I don’t really have a point to this except to say that it’s hard. And it really does matter when you can push past the hard and get it done. All jokes aside it’s pretty rewarding to high five the soggy freezing strangers who’ve also pushed past hard to achieve something. And the flip side is that it will only stay hard as it gets warm, and then hot as hell. By June I’ll be cursing the sun and what the heat does to my tempo, and wishing like hell for a cold-weather run.