First, a note about why no blogging recently:
...sigh.
So, Daylight Savings Time ended recently, and for me that day marks the official beginning of Gym Season. I live in a sidewalk-less burb, so that means a post-workday run is either in the park, running loop after loop on a pretty, tree-lined and very short path, or on the street - less boring but you take your life in your hands with all the texting moms.
(Yes, I'm singling out the moms. Mini-rant: this road runner has observed that the teens around here - the ones who get all the billboard and tv-ad blame for texting while driving - are actually driving with hands at 10 and 2 and are paying attention to the road. The minivan mom, however, has added texting to the already unforgivable distractions of opening juice boxes, pressing play on the movie on their kid's iPad, passing back a container of raisins... seriously, you can let your child be bored and hungry for a few damn minutes, wait until you park to text your BFF about meeting up for Mommy and Me Pilates, and ARRIVE ALIVE. With the added benefit of not plowing into your friendly neighborhood runners with your Town & Country).
Our cute little park is pretty much unavailable for a run after work during fall/winter months (it officially closes at dusk, and while you can still walk there - there are no gates - the coyotes tend to take over at dusk. I don't recommend a turf war with the coyotes), and the streets around here get dark. We have no street lights, except a few driveway lamp posts, so dark is DARK. If you want to live to see spring, outdoor runs from November through April are relegated to weekends.
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| An autumn sunset run in Ohio can be the prettiest thing in the world. |
I figured out in years past that the couple of weeks after the early-November time change are critical. Suddenly, it's dark when I go to work and dark when I come home, and I just want to hibernate. "The sun is down, it must be SO LATE, there's no possible way I can work out, I have to eat comfort food and curl up with a book." The only way for me to combat the hibernation instinct is to hurry up and embrace the night owl life, forcing myself to be active every single day. I take gym clothes to work, and head straight to the treadmill instead of going home first, where books and couches are waiting to swallow me whole.
There are stages of lost summer grief to get through, of course, before the transformation from summer babe to arctic fox can be complete:
Denial: "I can still run outside after work because I am a schedule management ninja. I am going to plow through my work today, skip lunch, leave early and go running outside while there's still a glimmer of daylight!"
Anger: "How is it EFFING NOVEMBER already and why do I live in EFFING OHIO instead of the tropics?!?"
Bargaining: "If only I had spent more time outside this summer. If I promise to run faster/longer, can I have a time machine and go back to July?"
Depression: "Cleveland. Is. Death. The. Sun. Is. Gone. Forever. And. So. I. Die."
Acceptance: "It's okay, Nadia. You are a Clevelander, toughen up! Treadmills are your friend, they keep you sane until spring and there are no allergens in the gym. You will see the sun again in a few months, and in the meantime you look adorable in sweaters and boots."
Winter is Coming and the CLE will soon be as grey and frigid as Winterfell. Gym Season has challenges, to be sure - I'm trying to reacclimate to the strangeness of an evenly paced and quiet run, as treadmills don't automatically accommodate my outdoor running uneven pace and other oddities (stop to take a picture of a hawk, stop to dance when the park is empty, run super fast for 20 seconds with arms flailing like a cartoon character begin chased by a bear because why not, sing at the top of my lungs because even if someone hears me I'll be down the street before they can notice how bad my singing is...) but the upsides are plenty - no allergens, more frequent yoga classes, heated indoor pools on freezing days, propping up a book on the treadmill (reading AND running! happiness, happiness...). Cleveland, I am ready to be in you when winter comes.
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| Cleveland, I'll meet you here on a January Saturday morning. |
