Running on Snow, Falling on Ice

In general, I avoid blog posts about running.

This is because I really want people to keep reading, and I am just hoping for more comments as I have this outsized need for attention which I mentioned before.
And not many people enjoy reading about anyone’s running adventures.
Except when there’s blood or criminal contact with the non-running public involved.

But, I kind of warned you once that I would want to milk you for sympathy when winter arrived and I had to run in it.
So, here we are.
And this is the lowdown on running last night.
My habit is to head north as I begin my run and then to turn and head back south to home.
This is because I always want to head into the wind at the front of the run and then have wind at my back on the return.
And the wind here has always come from the north since we’ve lived here.
Until last night.
So I went out near sunset into a beautiful heavy snowfall, running north and just making tracks feeling like Rambo for more than two miles.
Since it was getting dark and I had my fugitive dog with the $5000 bounty on his head running with me, I decided to turn and head home via a dirt lane through a corn field.
So the second I wheeled around, I realized that the reason I was running so well, was because there was this killer wind pushing me from behind.
At the same moment the wind hit me in the face, I was turning onto this dirt tractor route which was covered in at least four inches of ice deceptively covered by 3 inches of fresh snow.
So I hit the ice, went down immediately and rocketed across at warp speed on my side, leaving a track more than two meters long. Really elegant!
Somewhere in the distance between being upright at the turn and horizontal at the end of my slide I smashed my right ankle. It’s larger than normal now.

It was a long haul home, more ice-ponds on the road and arctic wind blowing up from Bermuda.
I promise I will try not to whine on the blog about winter running.
My poor family could tell you what a weenie I am, and how I embelish every little fall, and every ice-encrusted eyelash, chapped lip and frost bitten toe.

I’m reading Jeeves and the Feudal Spirit tonight. I won’t write anything about that except to say Wodehouse is always just the right thing.

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