My local Linda and I wogged for about 45 minutes last night. A couple of my left-hand fingers nearly froze off, it was so nasty-cold out, but I’m glad we got out. Yes, I wore my mitts – the wind was just that frigid. I’m glad I brought my earmuffs, too.
I mainly went because I had told others I would. I also told myself that even if I just got my running gear on, and just showed up, I could then trot around one block and head into the Starbucks. Of course, conversation with Linda was plenty enough to keep me going. I’ve really missed her since she broke her ankles last year – it was very, very nice to have my running-Linda back again.
We went down the curling club stairs, across the river under the 10th St. C-Train bridge, and came back through Prince’s Island Park. I’m pretty sure we gently ran more than we briskly walked.
I even made it all the way up all of the 165 cc stairs twice. I actually didn’t intend to climb the whole set of stairs more than once on the way back, but I made it to the top a few flights ahead of Linda, and rather than wait in the nasty wind, I headed back down to do “a couple more flights”. As I headed back down, a funny thing happened; the rest of the skinny-fast runners were coming up the stairs on their umpteenth repeat of them, and at least three of them grunted encouragement that I should be tackling the stairs more than once.
“Good GIRL.” “Way to GO.” “Great job!”
I could hardly turn back up after only a few flights then. I’d have accepted praise for a feat half accomplished. So I went all the way back down and all the way back up. The stairs effort warmed me up wonderfully, strained my hamstrings, stretched my lungs to near bursting, and gave a stern eviction notice to all of the mucus that had taken residence in my head.
I’m glad we went. After all, I’d already used up my snow-night-off-feeling-icky pass last week.