Oppressive temperatures are perfect for running when you want, but do not need, a day off from running
Who wouldn't want the ability to identify local extraterrestrials without wearing designer sunglasses?
Two Saturdays ago, the temperature in eastern Boulder (we have microclimates here) reached an afternoon high of 27°F/-3°C, then dropped overnight to 2°/-17°. Amid a dusting of snow, the air never rose above 8°/-13° all of Sunday before falling to -2°/-19° by early Monday morning. The high temperature that day was 16°/-9°, and that evening brought another light snowfall and a low temperature of 5°F. Tuesday’s high was 27°/-3°. The weather has been unremarkable since, getting to at least freezing every day and above 60°/16° once.
For a solid two days, then, it ranged between -2°/-19° and 16°/-9°, and this period was therefore not “good for running outdoors.” While the near-absence of wind lessened the danger of frostbite and somewhat defanged the brutality of the air, and the paths were mostly clear of ice, this is still cold. When it’s in the single digits American, even with no minus sign, running outside is not a casual deed; even youngsters on MDMA usually take their gyrating into a heated warehouse. I don’t take Rosie outside for more than a few minutes when it’s this cold—her paws aren’t equipped for such travel, and she has more sense than I do.
Going running when the weather is seriously uninviting, but not hostile or overtly dangerous, is a smarter play than it seems, at least for those of us whose perpetual training plan is “get outside every day and then decide what happens.” This is mainly because extreme cold and extreme heat create sensations that damp out or overwhelm any gripe-level physical complaints you carry to the day—minor soreness or tightness, inexplicable fatigue, or lassitude not otherwise specified. Most of these symptoms are found in the presence of aging-denialism in those over fifty, but they can occur in the non-musty as well.
But there are other easy rewards, too. If you’re someone who skips runs here and there for lame reasons—minor fatigue, wildfire-poisoned air, not enough clean-ish laundry, a sore shoulder from excessive frisbee-playing—and then wish you hadn’t, even though you’re at a point in your running lifetime where you cheerfully forgive yourself for brief strings of excusable inactivity, then you should treat days where it is safe but unpleasant to run outside as ideal days for going outside and running.
Disclaimers: I am not talking about physical situations like overt injuries or weather conditions that include combinations of extreme wind, lots of ice underfoot, sleet, darkness, or other adversaries avoided by not only sensible people but daredevils and dipshits alike. I’m talking about scenarios where you know you’ll be comfortable enough once you get going, settle into the right pace, and (in the case of extreme heat) have assured access to water at least every thirty minutes. Reliable knowledge in these areas is collected from having survived similar conditions in the past and even been glad for the experience apart from “I proved a point” (a dubious but always-extant source of motivation for those of us willing at times to grasp at anything).
Since it’s not hot at the moment for virtually anyone reading this—and if you’re in Australia, well, stay out of the interior, I guess—I’ll focus here on why you should run in brutally cold weather in the middle of a mostly windless day, given the chance. Especially if you’re having one of those “Maybe another cup of coffee will get me out there” mornings.
For one thing, if you have to spend the first five minutes of a run fighting for basic comfort and the next five securing exposed skin you thought would be okay for half an hour unprotected, then you’ll be unable to focus on typical bugbears like “I forgot to empty the dryer, I should turn around” or “If I do this, I won’t have as good a long run when it’s nicer out in two days” or “The people on the corner should be blowing their pot smoke out the back window.” You’ll be too busy hunching your shoulders and clenching your fists and taking short, quick steps and drawing rapid, shallow breaths to pay attention to your own psychic stank-pools.
That’s another thing to be aware of, and it can be a hard lesson to learn: When running in extreme cold, if you lack the sense to do about 100 push-ups or the equivalent before heading outside, resist the temptation to go too fast or do things with your limbs that might increase the chances of a fall or slip significant enough to cause a muscle strain (if it’s well below freezing, there’s probably ice somewhere in your path). Just say “Five more minutes” and hold your usual form, buttressing this with the knowledge that you’re lucky enough to have had a warm point of origin and an equally toasty one to return to.
Be a stoic; punish yourself at this stage, if you like, for any recent bouts of overeating.
After five minutes or so, your body will be warm enough, but this is when you may start to discover that parts of you are inadequately covered, often the tips of the toes or portions of forearm between where a hoodie-sleeve ends and a glove begins. As long as you’re not planning to be out there for more than an hour and are staying close to home in case you really do need to turn around, these annoyances are usually manageable through basic twitching and outerwear readjustments.
Also, if there is any wind, try to keep the direction across your body instead of behind you or in your face, even if this means running back and forth along the same street. A headwind sucks for obvious reasons, whereas a tailwind, according to physics, only assures a headwind later in the journey, when you may even have sweat on your face (doubtful, though).
Another thing you learn when doing these runs is who in your neighborhood is driven by the same basic factors you are, whether they race or not. When you see someone running outside in Boulder when it’s extremely cold, you’re almost always seeing someone who had the choice to run inside; almost everyone here, including me, either owns a treadmill or is a five-minute hike from one. Anywhere else, you’re seeing people who have never run on treadmills.
Without having to ask any questions of such grimacing interlopers or even glance across the street at whoever you see in motion, you know you’re meeting someone whose deepest ties to running are a lot like yours. It has nothing to do with toughness or dedication or anything on which to hang honorifics or superlatives—it’s just how some people prefer to erect and maintain a running experience over a lifetime. These are always pleasing moments.
When I saw someone else out there on that very cold Sunday, a woman who might have been close to my age, it was like having been given a pair of the sunglasses Rowdy Roddy Piper stumbled across in the 1988 cult-schlock classic They Live. Without the shades, everyone in Los Angeles looked human to Piper’s character and others (truer then than now of Southern California). With them, however, a wearer could detect which of the “humans” were actually cleverly disguised, inimical aliens.
Running in extreme but safe cold in a densely populated area is like putting on a pair of those sunglasses. You might see someone you’ve seen before, running or otherwise. But now you have no choice but to file this person away as a spiritual ally, even if you don’t need their help to save the world from extraterrestrial douchebags. Those allies don’t come cheap these days, even the ones you never consult directly.
When doing that same run—which lasted all of 31 minutes—I thought back to a time in 1996 when I did a 21-mile run in similar weather over the hills of Lebanon and Hanover, New Hampshire. I “had” to do that run as I was training for my first Boston Marathon. I had a busy schedule then and had to do long runs on weekends like everyone else. On this occasion, I was carrying an old-school Walkman, a cassette player, with me. Not only did it fail in the cold, but the case started to freeze whichever hand I was carrying the player in. I thought about junking it and wound up toting it along mostly by the string after a while. But I stayed out there for about two and a half hours, and it got no worse after the first twenty minutes other than the hands thing.
Would I do that same thing now, given enough motivation? Would I need five times as much to stay out there for five times as long as I just did? How much have I changed in this way, versus merely being subjected to normal aging and other ineffable processes?
I like to think that people don’t change, but they do shift. I’m always going to be someone who does things like this when it “doesn’t matter,” just like I was someone who ran up to 140 miles a week in the hope of running maybe three percent faster than I would on half of that.
I find this consoling because I can apply it to areas of my life where a change, or a shift, is desired. I frequently mention being sober from alcohol and no longer having cravings in the same situations that would have assuredly provoked a bender in the past. I find it hard to believe that the underlying urge—escape, extinction, self-destruction—is gone or ever will be. If I consciously replay certain mental movies that I was unable to properly contextualize in the past, then I will merely be an extreme malcontent at times instead of a sot. That’s not ideal. but the difference is incalculably large.
The practical difference between doing long runs in ultra-cold weather and pitter-pattering around for thirty minutes in the same conditions is equally vast, even if the on-the-ground consequences are trivial. But sometimes it’s fun just to be reminded of who you are, even if some of the news reminds you of things you might never have again for different reasons. In a world where the right to have a self-selected, non-tribal, fundamental identity is under continual and growing assault, putting yourself through small but optional challenges can be deeply reinforcing.