That was the blurry view out my living room window tonight. It might look bleak or even painfully cold, but I really love running in the snow, so it was exciting for me to see. Fresh powder is so much fun to run in that I even seem to forget how cold it is against my uncovered legs (though I always remember the cold later when my legs sting for a good while after the run, thanks to never running in anything other than short shorts, no matter what the weather is like and no matter how many layers I'm wearing on top). In any case, I looked out my window in the middle of what was being called a "severe blizzard" and just decided it was time to go for a run. I had no idea how far I was going to go; I just ran. I often find that a nice snowstorm is one of the few times that I can go out and run and focus purely on the enjoyment of it without letting my head get caught up in all the numbers associated with what should be a simple run. In the end, I had a blast, never ran harder than what I could hold for 50 miles given even moderate fitness, and only looked at my watch once or twice. Part of the run was on pavement, but the ever increasing unplowed snow on the roads (6" at the start) made everything feel like trails. The actual trails were amazing; no-one was in sight, I didn't need a headlamp due to the reflective nature of the snow, and I meandered through a relatively gentle rolling course that allowed me to focus on the enjoyment of it all. How far and fast I ran was irrelevant. I had fun and that's what mattered.
