Feb 6, 2000 Praise of Winter Running By Laurel Park :: Views- 1248

In Praise of Winter Running As I sit writing this, it's almost the end of January and we runners in southeastern Michigan have just endured our first multi-day bone-chilling cold snap; the kind that makes stepping out the door about as pleasant as riding home after a rainy race when you've forgotten dry shoes and socks.

Now, I am an unabashed winter-lover. You could not pay me to live in one of those so-called "temperate climates" where the temperature rarely dips below 40 and the residents have never heard of Polartec. I love the cold, I love the snow, and frankly any day warmer than 75 is too darn hot for me.

Every winter I hear the litany of complaints from runners young and old. "It's too cold!" "The wind is too strong!" "The sidewalks are icy!" "It's frustrating to run in snowy roads!" "My hamstrings are toast from sliding around!" "I can't get motivated to go out the door!"

I feel your pain. Really, I do. By the time March rolls around the novelty has worn off for me, too. 30 degree days in March seem colder than 20 degree days in January. And no one enjoys doing a front gainer after hitting a patch of black ice on the sidewalk But for the first few weeks of winter, running holds a special charm and a sense of wonder than I am convinced could never be duplicated anywhere in the south.

My favorite winter runs are those that take place on cold, clear, crisp mornings, when the sun is shining and the air is so cold you can almost hear icicles forming. The snow is powder-fine and it crunches loudly with every footfall. Only the hardiest of souls will venture out on such a day, so the streets are quiet and the air is still. I love the beauty, the stillness, the sounds of my breathing and the gentle "swoosh-swoosh" of my nylon jacket. I like to look about and take in my surroundings; I notice houses that I'd never really noticed before and I find myself wondering about the people who live there. I run through the gentrified neighborhoods south and east of the U-M campus and wonder what the insides of those stately Tudor homes must look like, and how I would furnish them if I lived there. I notice yards, children's toys, gardens curled up in hibernation until Spring.

I also love to run in the snow. Big, fluffy, gentle flakes are my favorite. Two such runs stand out in my memory. The first took place nearly 15 years ago, when I was a senior in college. It was an April evening and Ann Arbor was the recipient of a freak winter snowstorm which dropped several inches of thick, wet snow over the city. I was trying unsuccessfully to study for an Organic Chemistry exam (nearly everything I did with Organic Chem was unsuccessful), but the beauty of the storm drew me outside. I tied on my shoes and did a quick run around the block. The hush of impeding exams had already fallen on the campus, so there was a certain eerie stillness that was compounded by the quiet caused by the snow. The roads were impassable so there was no noise from cars. The streetlights cast a gentle glow over the snowy landscape. It was quiet, it was peaceful, and it was just what I needed to remind me that regardless of what happened with Organic Chem, the world would still be there in the morning.

The second run took place 11 years later. It was again evening, and again Ann Arbor was enjoying a snowstorm with thick, beautiful flakes. This time it was almost Christmastime, so I decided to run over to one of the above-mentioned gentrified neighborhoods south of campus. Christmas decorations were up, and many of the stately Tudor houses were decorated in bright lights. I've always dreamed of living in a small town in England, and I suspect that this run will be about as close as I'll ever get to seeing what a small English town might look like on a snowy Christmas night.

Such memories dim, of course, on days when the sub-zero windchill is blowing full-force into your face, or the ice-crusted sidewalks reduce running to a cautious and laborious jog. But I'm willing to take those bad days as the price to pay for the thrill, and the wonder, and the beauty of enjoying Michigan in all its winter glory.