Sunday, February 23, 2014

Running through a New England Winter

Yesterday was beautiful. That rare February New England day, when two-month high piles of snow start to melt as the thermostat tops 50. A great day to shed the long pants, gloves and hat, and go out for a long run.

I wasn't alone.

I saw many runners enjoying the weather. Some, perhaps lacing up their shoes for the first time in a while; others basking in the reminder that spring is around the corner. But forecasts say we'll be back in single-digit lows within a week. And I'll still be outside running.


I hate treadmills. Yes, I can run faster on them because there's no wind resistance. Yes, I can watch the Winter Olympics on the dashboard screen. Sometimes, they're a necessity. I was listening to Dana-Farber's Dr. Rosenthal talk about integrative therapies, and as he talked about the benefits of meditation and what meditation was, I realized that for me, running is meditation. And it's hard to meditate when you're surrounded by other people, watching television and there's a loud, pounding accompanying your steps.

But a dislike of treadmills may keep you pounding pavement when it hits 30 or maybe 20 degrees; but something else has to be at work when the wind chills are approaching zero.

For me, I'd be lying to say that there isn't at least a little bit of "real runner-itis" at work. I've been running since discovering at sleepaway camp in Maine that I was pretty good at it. (Note: when I say pretty good, I need to qualify that. Except for one second-place finish in one track event in ninth or tenth grade, I've never won any race, qualified for any marathon or done anything remarkable in 40+ years of running.  But when I'm running through Boston in the bitter cold, I do feel a bit of ego-induced satisfaction -- of proving to myself that I'm a real runner.

In the past that's gotten me out and running in all sorts of weather. But absent the need to train for an April marathon four years ago, in times of extreme cold, I've turned to the treadmill. This year's been different.

I've said before in this space that since my diagnosis and then chemo, running for me helps me prove to myself that I'm alright -- that I'm healthy. This snowy, cold New England winter, though, running for me has become more than  just an act of assertion, it's an act of defiance.

Whatever the universe brings - lymphoma, snow, single-digit temps -- if I can run, I will.