Today, a coworker is running the Manchester City Marathon. Yesterday, when I went for a (much shorter) run, it was 65 degrees, sunny, and beautiful for November in New England. Today – this morning – even my stubborn cat, who wants to go out after breakfast year round, simply stood in front of the door wincing and flattening her ears at the icy, blustery winds whipping past the thermometer that read 35 degrees.
Now running in 35 degree weather isn't as nice as 65, but it's doable. Once warmed up, 35 feels more like 50ish, but that wind takes all the fun, and heat, out of the run. For me, at least. For my coworker, well, she does this stuff a lot more often, and she's trained hard. I'm sure she dressed appropriately, in layers she was willing to drop as needed. One doesn't spend months training for a marathon and then change her mind just because it's a tad windy or the temperature is a bit low. This is New England after all, where we say: Don't like the weather? Blink. It'll change.
It's Sunday in New England, but our Patriots aren't playing until four p.m. I won't be going out in this windy, chilly day to hike, as we'd previously planned, and I'm glad I squeezed in my run yesterday, before this cold blew in on the tail of a rain storm. Today, instead, I'll be writing. I want to say "finally writing" but I won't diminish it. I pounded out a few tequila soaked words last night, and today, with less tequila, I'll work on an M/M friends-to-lovers story I abandoned months ago. With that in mind, maybe it's good it's cold today. Though I will feel a little guilty about that statement tomorrow when I ask my coworker how she weathered the race.
Stay warm this winter, dear readers.