Promise I'm not going to write about my leg issues--I've cried wolf enough times (although, it should be said, all have been legit pleas)--because I know, at this point, my talking about it further is like the equivalent of showing 400 slides of a trip to Europe. Your eyes are glazed over, and you stopped listening about 392 slides ago. "So then we went to this castle in Ireland, where they had the most delicious scones. What were they again? Cinnamon? Apple? A cinnamon apple combination? I can't remember, but I did ask for the recipe but forgot it in our hotel room, which was..." Bleh.
I just wanted to say I miss running, especially on days it snows. I grew up in Minnesota, and my blood craves being outside on brisk days. I love needing three layers on top for a morning run. I thrive on the challenge of negotiating icy bits on the trail--provided, of course, I don't bite it--where I pick up my pace to get over them quicker. (I think, "fast and light, fast and light!") I miss inhaling the fresh air that can freeze nose hairs. I miss seeing my breath in front of me, a testament to my effort. I miss walking inside, thinking, "The heat is so high," then having to do a big honk into a Kleenex to clear out my Rudolph-red nose. I love seeing that my hat has frost on the outside of it, a combination of my sweaty head meeting Mother N. I love thawing out in a hot shower.
I just miss running on winter days. That's all I really needed to say.