Through the miracle of the internet I’m connected with runners all over the world. Runners live in places that collectively span the full range of climate options this planet Earth has to offer. Each year, as the seasons change, we connect with each other and variously brag and complain about the new weather we are faced with as we pursue our passion for putting one foot in front of the other.
The place where I live has many features that make it the
best place in the world to run. It has roads. It has trails. It has hills and
it has great flat expanses. It has lonely, solitary places to run and it has
busy, bustling places to run. Lakeshores, glens, vast, sometimes dense forests
full of deer, squirrels, raccoons, porcupines – even the occasional more rarely
seen creature, like a bear, a bobcat, a mink, or a fisher.
Most of all, the place where I live has seasons!
It is fall now – my favorite season for running. The air
gets crisp and dry, and temperatures drop to a range where I can truly run
without breaking a sweat. Nothing beats a cold October morning with bright
sunshine and frost on the ground! The sun lights the hillsides on fire – a
blazing mix of oranges, yellows and reds. The leaves that have burned
themselves out and settled on the trail like a layer of ash crunch underfoot as
I move untouched through the flames – the condensation from my breath providing
the only ‘smoke’ to be seen. I feel like I can run forever!
Yes, fall is my favorite season for running here – unless it
is winter.
No other season offers the variety of extremes that winter
does. I can run in utter silence as last night’s undisturbed snow muffles my
footsteps while this morning’s gently falling new snow fills the air around me,
creating a moving sound-proof room for me to run in - or I can run with the
howl of a winter storm constantly in my ears as the wind alternately resists
me, pushes me along, or simply buffets me unpredictably, driven crystals of ice
stinging my face from time to time. I can run in a darkness almost like that of
a mine, my headlamp lighting the only apparent tunnel through the world
whichever direction I look, or I can run in a brightness that exists no other
time of the year, as noonday sun reflecting off clean, white new-fallen powder
fills my eyes wherever I look. I can run on bone dry pavement, sheets of ice,
mixes of slush and mud, or in deep powder or mashed potato snow over my ankles.
Often, I can feel like this wonderland belongs to me alone, as so many others
shrink from such extremes and hibernate in their homes. No other season makes
me feel so alive as winter does!
Yes, winter is my favorite season for running here – unless
it is spring.
I love the promise of spring – the sun’s renewed strength
hinting of warm days to come, the flow of rushing streams announcing with
certainty that winter’s hold on the land will be broken once again. The
swelling buds on the trees hint of the green canopy that I will soon be running
under, the heads of the hardier perennials breaking surface where the ground
has already thawed of the carpet of green that will soon cover the forest
floor. I’ve watched as the drops of a cold early spring rain were turned into swarms
of bright golden fireflies around me in the rays of a setting sun that had
slipped under the cloud cover to the west. Soon those rains will be warm, and I
will run in them in just shorts and a t-shirt as I used to as a child whenever
I could talk Mom into letting me.
I love the promise of spring; it is my favorite season for
running here – unless it is summer.
How can you beat the summers here? It is always warm – but
usually not too warm. Spring’s promise has indeed become a green canopy that
shades me as I run under it for miles, free of the encumbrances of the colder
months. It is always light. The dark nights of winter have become the golden
lights of a late-summer evening. Movement is as unrestrained as it will ever
be. The air flows freely over me, usually whisking away the sweat of my labor –
although sometimes the air is heavy, and dense, and the sweat pools on my skin
and drips from the brim of my visor. At first, this is hard, but within a few
weeks it feels good – like a daily cleansing, rinsing away my weakness. The
days are endless in the summer, and there is always time to run.
Yes, summer is my favorite season for running here, but now
summer is gone.
Good thing fall is my favorite season for running here too.
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