I had not gone more than a few hundred feet when I lost my footing and rolled for several yards down the incline on my way toward the post office, so it was not an ideal start to a run, and I knew then that my “luck” would not be with me on this dreary and gray day. I struggled up, let go with a sneeze, and continued on my way.
Now, I have always been the victim of my own bad timing when it came to the weather and running, meaning that I had always begun just as the weather was getting marginally worse, and at least that was consistent; the snow picked up as I reached the first major intersection along the way.
Standing there, shivering as I was, it really didn’t strike me until then that perhaps this was not really an excellent time of day to be doing what I was doing, that trying to wrap myself in the feeble garb of holiday spirit was an excuse for me to ignore the harsh reality of an unpredictable Michigan March. I continued running and naturally, it was against the wind and into the blinding whiteness of this seemingly endless snow squall.
In the 70 minutes that I spent pounding the pavement, two inches had managed to fall and completely ruin many of my St. Patrick’s Day plans, as the roads were now very unsuitable for the remainder of the afternoon.
The strain of administrating a book fair for an elementary school and trying to juggle a million other things had not only taken its toll on my health, but on my well-being outside of the workplace, which is why I was so completely disappointed that not even this supposedly upbeat day could cure my woes. It is also one of the reasons I am changing jobs at the beginning of next month, but then, that has little to do with my running, at least until I make it relevant.