It was foolish to head out for a run this morning, when my smartphone machine was telling me it was minus 5 degrees.
But when I got home from work last night around 10:45 p.m., the temperature was a balmy 20 degrees, and before I drifted off to sleep I promised myself that I would take a relaxing run outside, maybe take Buddy the Energetic Vizsla to the park and let him run around a bit.
This has been part of my exercise discipline from nearly day one. If I visualize and plan what I'm going to do the night before, I invariably end up doing it. I'm not sure exactly why this is, but I attribute it to a bit of Norwegian stubbornness that I inherited from Grandma, along with a taste for lefse. That bullheadedness is probably the one natural thing I have going for me as an athlete.
So when I looked at the iTemperature this morning, I gave a passing thought of heading to the YMCA for a jog on the indoor track, but shrugged it off and proceeded to put on layers of wool and manmade fibers designed to wick the moisture from my body with space-age magic.
And then I slogged through a 4-mile run in 50 minutes, an appropriately glacial pace. I am in recovery mode, so I employ plenty of walking on my jogs, which is nice in normal conditions, but chilly when it's subzero.
One mistake: I failed to put on my magic wind-breaking briefs, which were in the dirty laundry pile. I got a little tingly in my wingly.
But all is well now.
You know what, it's interesting to run in extreme weather. Which, of course, is my way of "positively reframing" the fact that it was FREAKIN' COLD OUT, MAN.