It is the day after what the Philadelphia Inquirer has rated the 17th heaviest snowfall in the city’s history, and man, I really need to go for a run.
Thirty-five degrees, bright and sunny, but a foot or so of snow just isn’t going to go away that quickly. Vibrams for traction, Injinji socks for warmth, by the end of the block my feet are soaked, my toes going numb. I push it out for a mile before I decide to cut back, give it up before hurting myself. But then my feet begin to warm up from the exercise, feeling floods back into my toes. I keep going, up and down the narrow streets of my neighborhood, figuring if I stick close to home I’ll be alright.
Mountains of snow, seas of slush, but I manage to pull out five miles. Good as long as I keep going. But as soon as I finish the run, stand outside my door and fumble for the keys, the cold slams in.
Dear Dan in Philadelphia,
ReplyDeleteGet therapy. Now.
--Dear Abby
Oh, your good! I walked out in some slushy snow in my gorilla feet today, got wet and cold, turned around and went back in to change into my Evo's. I'm a wuss. Good for you!
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