“Sit down, Hamachi”
First words I heard spoken this morning. The cab driver was talking to the white(ish) poodle sticking its nose through the divider at me.
Hamachi sat down and I sat back.
My knee was a little bit stiff.
As luck would have it, last night was the night my running coach picked for a first training run after 2 months of rest.
My brain having finally thawed, the memory was sharpening.
Fifteen minutes into it with my nose pouring uncontrollably, body toasty warm thanks to my three layers, I notice that Central Park is deserted. Our little group of five, feet slapping on the ground, ice almost audible in our gasps of breath. No conversation.
Thoughts coming in a sludgy stream of consciousness, slowed by the cold and resting in my head longer than necessary.
The handful of people we pass over the five-mile stretch greet the coach by name.
Of course they know each other. How many people run in this weather.
Did I mention it was 16 degrees?
Hmmm, doesn’t feel like my right foot injury from last season healed quite right.
What is that, and why was it in my nose?
This must be what botox feels like. I wince again, just to confirm the sensation.
Ahhh, the comfortable numbness has finally settled in.
Good news is, it only gets easier from here on.
Y’know, it was your decision to start training season with running conditioning this year, so I don’t want to hear it. Does that work? Can I tell myself that?
That sloppy joe/mac-n-cheese combo at Schnipper’s last week was better than I thought it would be.
Is the mac-n-cheese better at Artisanal or at Wollensky’s? Definitely Artisanal. Nothing like it anywhere.
Why do mean kids kick over other people’s sand castles for no good reason, then build a similar, but lesser one from the same blueprint?
Somewhere, people are on a beach, lamenting the heat.
There are very few people on this earth who I hate. Actually, is there anyone one on earth I hate? Hmm. Being honest I’m sure I would have to say yes, but I can’t think of anyone at the moment.
Wait! Maybe those two! (two hatless, ponytailed twenty somethings trot by comfortably, chatting, keeping a pace well above ours). Nah, that’s jealousy, not hate.
I think something on my face has frozen. Nose twitch. Yep, definitely an ice crystal.
Why do running coaches always want you to run uphill?
Is it possible they installed more hills in the park over the holidays?
Can the incremental wind chill from running be calculated?
Something bad happened to people I care about last week. Not strangers many time zones away. This was only a few zip codes away. I think they know I’ll do anything I can to help them. Well, I hope so.
You’re kidding me, are we speeding up? (looking at my running watch – four miles already?)
There’s a thought sitting smack in the middle of my head where I can’t see it, like an iceberg taunting me to consider its magnitude. Too cold to try to identify it, and there’s only a mile left anyway.
I’m very happy with this base layer. It seems like it has wicked all the moisture away from me and into my fleece. Or am I numb?
What is “wicking” anyway, and when did I start using this word? It sounds like it would be related to cupping.
Ouch, I remember my one experience with cupping. Who puts a hot glass on their foot and leaves it there on purpose? Didn’t seem therapeutic to me.
Huh? Oh, “Fine, glad we’re about done. Can definitely feel this one!”
I hope that’s the only question the coach asked, because I don’t remember verbalizing anything for the past (looking at my watch) 38 minutes.
Or did I? Looking around. The others aren’t looking at me weird, so I must not have said any of this out loud.
The jolt was a bit harder than it should have been. I bounce forward. Hamachi’s feet skitter for purchase on the front passenger seat as we pull up to the airport curb.
Sure glad nobody can read what goes on in my head.
Oh. Wait.