Of Snow and Running

Okay, so I'm at the Denver Tech Center Marriott, done with meetings for the day, and I say to myself, "Self, you gotta get a workout in". Self argues that it's going to be WAAY too crowded in the fitness center, so why bother. "Self", I say, "You were always lazy and you'll never change. Let's go for a run!" Rolling its eyes, Self says okay.

So, we get dressed in our "winter running duds", consisting of a long-sleeved t-shirt, shorts and my Air Force PT jacket, do our stretches in the room and jog down the hall to warm up. As we hit the front door of the hotel, Self notices that it's snowing. Not a lot, but I'm a Texas boy and a little is a LOT. "Bag it", says Self. I argue that it can't be that bad, and I win (surprising me and my Self).

Off we go, it's probably 30 degrees or so, but gently drifting snowflakes make a picturesque scene as I cross the street and head off down the road. "Pfooey on picturesque, this is gonna suck", says Self. "Pipe down", says I. As I get warmed up, I realize that there's a lot less oxygen in Denver than San Antonio ("See?" says Self). Shuddup.

A mile down the road, I'm breathing (okay, panting - whatever) hard, and notice that the gently drifting snowflakes are not so gentle anymore. GAAAACK! I pant in a snowflake the size of a healthy hamster and start to cough uncontrollably, which causes me to have to stop and recover ("You're killin' me!" says Self). As I'm whooping in what little air there is, I realize that my legs are both numb and aching at the same time. Must be the sheet of ice that's covered them in the 5 seconds I've been stopped. And the worn tread on my running shoes is starting to lose ground against the frozen sidewalk. And my knees hurt. And the shortest way back to the Marriott is the way I came. Crap. I force myself to start running (that's what I'm calling it, okay?), just to keep from doing a Tin Man and having somebody find me in the Spring. It seems like the run back is twice as long as the run out. Hmmmm....

Back into the parking lot, and my gait is recovering - meaning I don't look quite so much like a 90 year old lady could kick my butt without working up a sweat. Stop at the covered drive, walk a little to cool down (!?!)...as we stroll into the lobby, Self says, "See, I told you we were lookin' good!" Chatting with a friend, looking fit, getting kudos for my dedication, and another runner, a captain, comes in from the snow. Probably 20 years younger than I am, disgustingly fit, comes up to us and says, "I'm glad to see you made it, Sir. I was behind you for a little while and was a bit concerned." Oh, shut up.

Running sucks.