My ridiculously funny (or maybe just ridiculous) hubby is back with a guest post. The winter of 2013-2014 wasn’t good for his running regimen.
Cold weather is bad news for fat boy runners like me.
Chilly weather serves a buffet of Halloween candy, Thanksgiving turkey, Christmas cookies, Super Bowl slop, and an assortment of coughs and colds–all topped off with a five month long Arctic blast.
For a fat boy like me, that’s a recipé for disaster.
Cold weather morphs a fat boy into a bear. Our winter beards erupt; our waistline insulation expands with every bite of holiday deliciousness; we inhale enough sugar to annihilate an army of Wilford Brimmley clones; we try our darndest to eat ourselves into a heart attack during the Super Bowl; we try to hibernate through as much of Old Man Winter’s extended stay as we can.
I admit it: cold weather makes me lose my edge.
(Fat boy runners don’t really have edges. We have curves. Sexy, blubbery curves. That’s why we run–so we don’t turn into sexy, blubbery walruses)
I actually enjoy cold weather running. Winter is nature’s air conditioning. If you drive through my neighborhood in the predawn hours during the weeks before New Year’s, you stand a decent chance of spotting me trudging through sub-freezing temps in shorts, glistening in the late autumn sun as I attempt to sweat a likeness of the Virgin Mary into my shirt.
|Reindeer Dash for Cash 2013|
But once Santa heads back north in the wee hours of December 25th, I get lazy. Filled to the brim with sweets and hot chocolate, I make excuses not to run. I turn off the alarm clock. I stay safe, curled up like an overstuffed baby underneath the covers until I have to force myself out of bed to get ready for work.
Before I know it, 10-12 miles a week shrivels to fifteen miles a month.
The winter of 2013-2014 was brutal to eastern NC. The Polar Vortex–armed to the teeth with snow, sleet, and whole lot of frigid angry–teamed up with a platoon of sinus infections and stomach bugs to beat my running routine into submission. My mileage total for the first quarter of 2014: 47.3 miles.
I fell out of the saddle. It’s time to get back on it.
I managed six miles last week. My legs, having grown accustomed to a life of ease, screamed and cussed at me for two days. This week, however, has been much better. I ran ten miles in a week for the first time in over half a year. I did a four mile long run, a two mile recovery run, two miles of speed work, and a two mile tempo run (which was great the first mile, but then my legs informed me that they were finished). My times weren’t great, but I didn’t expect them to be. It just felt great to get back out and get in some good miles.
Now, to keep it up, I need to sucker punch my laziness in the nose and put one foot in front of the other, one mile at a time. But first, I need to celebrate my ten mile week.
With cake. Preferably bacon-wrapped chocolate explosion cake.
You can follow Aaron on Twitter at twitter.com/AaronSaufley. He’s fond of the hashtag #runfatboyrun.