Another morning, another run through the snow. Erin and I kept another running date this morning, and looped seven miles through her local arboretum. I say "hers," but it's, you know, not hers. It's just there. By her house.
Whatever, I'm rambling.
It was a great run, though I think she'd argue otherwise. There was a bit of snow on the ground (by "bit," I mean "too much"), and it made running seven miles feel a lot like 13, on sand.
But it's so great to get out in the winter. The fresh air, and all. The past week has been nothing but sub-zero temperatures and darkness. Which translates to: there's no way in hell I'm getting outside for a run.
So although it felt like 13 miles, the time flew. We had things to talk about, books to compare, muscles to gripe about. The brunch and Starbucks afterward made it completely worth it, of course. And made for the perfect morning.
I feel like a running partner whore. I've declared, more than once, that running people are my favorite people. They get it. I've shared my training with some great ladies. From AJ to Courtney to Erin, and the dozen others I've come to know since taking up the nasty habit.
I've been lucky to have that person each time around. Someone to share the miles with. I know running is a solo sport, but even if you run 10 miles without sharing a word, it's better to hear the extra set of footsteps, and to have someone to commiserate with when the run felt like shit.
That was deep, I know.
But who else is going to recommend the good Clif Bar flavors, and understand that shin splints are as devastating as a bad haircut that won't grow out for weeks?