As the weather
slowly – very slowly – became colder, I started experimenting
with new paths and areas in which to run. I tried out the beautiful
Lakeshore Path, running along the beaches, watching waves crash into
the shoreline, and forcing myself to keep running and not take
pictures. I expanded my routes in certain parts of Logan Square and
Wicker Park, running past drunken hipsters and families walking with
dogs and strollers. I ran around Lakeview and Roscoe Village, past
kids my age and checking out restaurants I’d like to try. I even
ran, maybe stupidly, around the more northern parts of Avondale and
into and around Humboldt Park. There, luckily no gangbangers ever
approached me; the drug deals in the parks added to the charm, and
the terror equated to increased adrenaline – improved speed! I
somehow developed a penchant for planning routes where shootings,
stabbings, or homicides of other natures had occurred within a matter
of hours, but my luck held fast against the near-misses.
Despite taking to
new trails and routes, I kept running distances within my limited
comfort zone. The winter-running guidelines I’d come across had
recommended focusing on distance, not time, and taking it easy in
deteriorating conditions; I probably used that advice, fit for
running in challenging environments, but not the relatively easy ones
I came across with a notably delayed onset of winter, to justify not
pushing myself so hard. Chicago’s fall of 2011 and early winter,
2012, were freakishly warm. I took a trip to Los Angeles and San
Francisco the first week of the New Year; the temperature disparity
between home and the Bay area was a matter of degrees. Normally it
would be at least 30-40 degrees colder in the Windy City. Still,
needing to be careful in winter provided a ready excuse to not go
nuts, so I ran with a consistent pace, and kept my distances fairly
similar, with three or four miles the maximum. Simply running two or
three times a week, for any distance, felt like success.
I slowly increased
my distances to the point where running slightly longer races felt
possible, and in a December far warmer than the norm, I ran my third
race, my first longer than a 5K, the Rudolph Ramble 8K. Though I
decked myself out in full winter gear, complete with compression
tights and facemask, once moving it felt warmer than I’d feared,
and I nearly overheated. Still, with fine path conditions in Lincoln
Park, I managed a time of 48:47, a slightly faster pace than my first
two time trials. Simply officially running three kilometers further
felt great.
Winter finally hit in mid-January, and
I managed to fight through it. Despite being scared that I’d ran
twice in snow to that point, and never with accumulation, I ran a
race in wintry conditions for the first time, the Polar Dash 10K.
Ironically, wearing YakTrax cleats for the first time limited more
than helped, since almost immediately after leaving the starting and
prep zone, where six inches or more of snow had piled up in Grant
Park, the path had been cleared. The pressure points from the rails
under my shoes stabbed into my feet, causing serious pain, but I
refused to cost myself the time of stopping and removing them.
Against moderately-heavy snow and strong winds, I finished in
1:07:14. February’s Cupid’s Chase 5K came on one of the coldest
days I ran all year. With four to six inches of snow on the ground,
nobody had attempted even a cursory cleaning of the path, and shortly
after the start, I had my winter’s only instance of breathing
trouble due to the cold. The conditions felt rather tough, but I
resolved to power through, finishing in 29:22. Initially I felt
disappointed, having hoped to shave off more than only two minutes
off my first 5k time from three months ago. Then, close to the finish
line, I bumped into Jamie, the trainer from my gym, a marathoner in
great shape, who told me the race had hit her hard; I felt fine. That comparative strength helped me
not focus so much on my time as much as my fortitude.
Winter wasn’t
nearly as bad as it could have turned out. Most of my preparations
turned out to be overkill, but I felt fine with that. Adam took to
calling me a “running ninja” after I posted pictures dressed with
my hood and mask on facebook, though wearing such clothing hardly
felt legitimately necessary for more than a week or two. That whole
season, I somehow managed to never seriously injure myself, besides
normal wear and tear. I actually injured myself far worse than
anything I did while running, by ice skating – indoors! – and
faceplanting twice, ending up what felt like a cracked rib or two.
Truthfully, as never much of a risk taker, I only ran on overtly
dangerous trails on a handful of occasions, and ran them really,
really carefully, almost tip-toeing. The risk of cracking my skull on
frozen pathways successfully deterred incautious habits, and I
happily never fell into Lake Michigan while moving along the icy
Lakefront path, probably because I knew that if I did, I felt
guaranteed to drown.
No comments:
Post a Comment