Dear Chica I saw running this morning:
The temperature on my car thermometer read 4 degrees. The radio weatherman announced that with wind chill, temps were pushing 17 below zero. I was bundled up in a ski jacket, in my car, on a heated seat and barely felt warm. And there you were, layered to the hilt, running up the road (at a pretty nice clip, I might add. Bravo.).
You probably saw some of the drivers in passing cars shake their heads when they saw you, rolling their eyes and looking at you like you were crazy. You didn’t see me flash you a smile and a thumb’s up. But I did. Sure, everyone north of Florida was told to stay inside, but for all I know, you’re training for the Antarctica Marathon and this cold is nothing for you. Who am I to judge?
Personally, I have no interest in running through the Polar Vortex. The coldest run I have ever done was in temps hovering around 9 degrees with no wind (No Wind. This Is Key.). While that chilly run was surprisingly pleasant (Read: no wind), it does serve as my limit.
Under 5 degrees? Windy? I’m staying inside. But, seeing you tear up the pavement out there in record-breaking cold, I have to say, I was impressed. In fact, I’m thinking that you must possess that magical combination of insane determination, utter fearlessness, and slight craziness that would make me really want to be your friend.
If I only I could tell who the hell you were under all those layers.