But my feet are still warm…
It hasn’t been the most productive of days, but among the stagnant confinement of quarantine, this is standard. The weather outside is changing, and we’re all missing it’s crucial details. It feels like we’re trying to embrace these changes with optimism of the future, yet we’re all stuck in the monotony. Another eight hours of work, another zoom call, another dog walk, and maybe a new package that’ll keep you occupied only for so long. We’re just keeping up with the constant and trying our best to stay in touch with others and life; to stay safe, and to keep in good health.
The thing I love most about these in-betweens of seasons are the odd combinations of weather that you can find on any given day or at a moment’s notice. Today was a particularly dreary day for a November in Madison, WI, the staple warning sign that winter is approaching. The last call to invest in outdoor gear, or else face the consequences of a 7 month indoor confinement. Injury had plagued virtually all fo my fall running, as time trials and blind training produced meager results and nagging injuries. Limited by my physical abilities but still pouring with eagerness, I felt morally obligated to relish in this anomaly of weather.
It was dinner time and pitch dark. Usually I’d be starting dinner or ordering takeout by this time, where running is the last thing on my mind, but my something was drawing me to the cold and the pouring adversity of nature outdoors. A simple 4-mile loop will do just fine to satisfy this hunger. The start went just as expected. A very cold, blustery, and oppressive weather. The world just spitting a harsh exterior in my face, telling me to go back inside. ‘Hi, I’m Jake. Let’s get acquainted”.
One mile in and I’m starting to warm up, the rain suddenly feels more like a drizzle with a gentle breeze than a typical fall storm. Fog also begins to set as the warm and cool winds start to collide. The rare mixture of climate starts to trigger a new sense of relation within — A calming feeling, as the weather starts to become familiar with my activity. A once rusty, old achilles starts to relax and glow with fresh potential. A hazing neon sign breaks through fog accompanied by the sound of a pair of chuckles and a cracked beer. Damn, that sounds nice. The fog separates me from the bar just enough to keep me in my world of running, but I’ll have to make note to have a beer when I get back home.
An obligatory stop looking over Lake Monona needs to be done. We’re only 1.5 miles into this run, but sometime’s you need to think about your surroundings a bit. Only 10 minutes into this run, and so much has changed around me. I can’t see anything over the lake, just fog. It’s the sound that really makes the sight so full. Not a sight or sounds of people, only the vast hues grays, blacks, and dark blues of the evening fog and lake merged into one new color. Just a blank canvas. Not warm but not cold. The color has a texture that touches your face, and crispness in your lungs. The sounds of oscillating waves crash just inches from my shoes. Such a constant rhythm like my running with such a vast vision.
Not to be too corny, but this is a lot like running to me. There’s a foggy mystique to my running, always searching for a good outcome but uncertain. I run consistently like the wave. Working constantly and exerting energy time and time again. There are possibilities out there through the fog, but for now all I can see in front of me are the daily runs, like each incoming wave.
That’s a great feeling to carry through the rest of the run. Pretty grateful for that. The rain returns, but the weather stays warm. My body keeps regulating its warmth as I start to get drenched. As I pull up to our stoop, my heart is racing, my clothes drenched, and a wide grin. Shivering, but my feet are still warm.
