COLD
Friday, February 02, 2007
When I moved here after four years in Marquette, Michigan, I scoffed at Madisonians' reports of winter weather.
Snow? Marquette gets more than ten feet a year on average (It's the second-most "snowiest city" in the country). It starts coming down in October and still dots the beaches in May (I wasn't at all surprised one warm spring day to see sunbathers in bikinis sharing a beach with snowbanks). One winter, I had to have my car towed (read: unstuck) six different times. Three were right in my own driveway.
Cold? Marquette is the fourth-coldest city in the country. January averages have been known to hover right around five degrees. In Marquette, you huddle under over sized wool sweaters, wear boots, and try your damnedest to score an apartment with a fireplace, not because any of these things are cute or trendy, but because otherwise, you'll literally freeze your ass off.
Despite all of this, people in Marquette are among the most active -- year round -- whom I've ever seen. They snowshoe, cross-country and downhill ski, skijor, and run...no matter what the weather is like.
It was there that I learned the value of good (read: weather appropriate) running clothes and developed a true love of snowshoeing and winter running.
Strange, but true. The worse the winter weather is, the more I seem to want to be out in it. There's just something about running past houses where people are huddled safe and warm inside. It's a braving-the-elements sort of thing. One that delivers a punch of accomplishment and sticktuitiveness. On days like that, there's nothing like a look from a passing motorist cast in your direction that says, "You crazy, crazy fool. What are you doing outside in this?" and at the same time, "I could/would never do that."
But today in Madison, it's a special kind of cold out -- the kind that makes your nostrils freeze together. The kind that makes your teeth ache and your legs go numb lest they're covered in Carhart. The kind of cold that the winds whipping off Lake Superior dish out to Marquette only once in a while.
It's hard to remember, on days like today, how the sun could possibly feel too hot on your skin. It's hard to look out over Lake Monona and believe that just four months from now, the frozen sheet of ice covering it and the mini-city of bundled-up men with their shanties and poles will give way to warm, lapping water, swimmers, and boaters. It's hard to imagine running in a tank top and shorts.
Such is the miracle of midwest living. Four true seasons. Weather ranging from the unbearably cold to the excrutiatingly hot, and all of the sublime days that fall in between.
Proust said that "A change in the weather is sufficient to recreate the world and ourselves." For me, spring begets hope in the purest possible sense. Summer's warmth makes every day feel like vacation. Fall invokes the need for family and hunkering down. And frigid winter days build character. Much like brussell sprouts or a 20-mile run, these cold days are not something you look forward to or wish for. After the fact, though, you survive and you are proud.
And if you're anything like me, not too proud to hop on the treadmill.
Posted by Erin 8:30 AM 1 comments
No Excuses
Thursday, February 01, 2007
As months go, January and February top the list as the hardest. Nothing much happens during these months. There are no holidays to mark the time, no holiday parties to pass the longer nights. More often than not, the days are frigid and snowy. And these two months seem about as far away from the warm, scent-heavy days of spring as you can get -- both in calendar pages and mental health.
Especially in the Midwest. Especially when you're training for an Ironman.
In the last two cases, it's easy to feel down. It's easy to feel uninspired and unmotivated. It's even easier to make excuses.
Too icy to run outside. Too much to do at work. Too much to do after work -- grocery store, exercising the dog, exercising the horse, meetings upon meetings. To borrow a phrase I heard someone say lately, "Too much too much."
A skipped workout here or there won't hurt. It's the middle of the winter, after all. Your life is busy. One can only do so much.
And then you hear about someone like Dick Hoyt, and you're exposed for what you are: a whiner and a wuss.
Dick Hoyt's son Rick has had Cerebral Palsy since he was born, but that hasn't stopped either of them from completing 64 marathons, 206 triathlons (six of them Ironmans), 78 half-marathons, and a slew of other races -- 911 in all. Lest you think that isn't enough of an accomplishment, the pair also biked and ran across the country (3,735 miles) in 45 consecutive days; biked the states of Connecticut,Rhode Island, Massachusetts with "Axa World Ride '95;" and biked from Pittsburgh to Washington DC with "Axa World Ride 95 ."
The remarkable thing is not just the races. It's the training, too. All of the training hours logged for each one of those races. All of the miles Dick Hoyt runs, bikes, and swims -- not only by himself, but with his son. Pushing, pulling, and pedalling his son.
When Dick runs, Rick is in a wheelchair that Dick is pushing. When Dick cycles, Rick is in the seat-pod from his wheelchair, attached to the front of the bike. When Dick swims, Rick is in a small but heavy, firmly-stabilized boat being pulled by his dad.
And I think my training is "much too much" at times? As Rick Reilly from Sports Illustrated says, "Compared to Dick Hoyt, I suck."
Take the time to read the story and watch the short video of this amazing duo here.
Meanwhile -- despite the cold, despite having to entertain a justifiably-bored Vizsla and exercise a cooped-up horse, and despite having to figure out what to do about dinner -- I'm going to get my workout in tonight.
No more excuses.
Posted by Erin 2:08 PM 0 comments