Another Saturday. This means time for another long run. After the success of last week's endeavor, I decided to push a bit more this week. It helps that I have a wonderful wife who is so supportive.
So the plan for the day was 9 miles. For the record, that would be the farthest I have ever run. At once, of course.
Last night, though, the temperature was in a bit of a downward spiral. The wind was blowing and what started out in the 30s was quickly approaching the bottom half of the 20s, with a threat for a continued downward trend. I have this awesome clock that projects onto the ceiling. It syncs the time automatically from the atomic clock in Colorado, so it is always correct. And it connects to a remote thermometer that I have placed outside in the back of the house.
Last night, as I was going to bed, the temperature was 22 F. Hmm. Chilly. But I was determined.
So the alarm goes off. I gaze at the ceiling. 12 F.
Are you freaking kidding me? That is like -10 C! That ain't right. Freaking New England. Freaking snow. Freaking winter. I could still be wearing shorts in North Carolina. Argh.
But I really wanted to go. So up and at 'em. I did wait until the sky started to lighten, so that at some point during the run the sun would actually rise. I layered. It worked. Mostly.
My face was incredibly cold for the first mile or so, but by then I was starting to warm up and I was beginning to sweat. A few more miles down and I was sweating in earnest. But it was too cold to evaporate. So what does it do? It freezes. On my face. In my beard.
9.3 miles later I had become Captain Ice Beard.