I woke up this morning and looked out the window where I was staying and saw nothing but white. Five inches had fallen overnight and it was still snowing heavily. I briefly contemplated going out for five miles anyway, slugging through the snow. Or perhaps do some hill repeats, so as to keep within close range of the house. But then I realized that I could barely see the bright yellow road plow going down the hill 25 yards away and only noticed him by his revolving yellow lights.
Discretion is the better part of valour, I tell myself. And go back to bed for another hour.
By the time I got up again, it was no longer snowing. After a shower, the sky was clear and blue. Perfect day for a run - except I had meetings to go to. As the sun set during the long busride back to New York, I contemplated that I had given up on a run that would have been perfectly doable, if difficult. That though concerns about being visible to drivers in the snow are valid, they hadn't stopped me before. I wimped out!
So I put in a run as soon as I got home. I didn't go 5; turned around once my out-and-back route transitioned from sidewalks to trail, cutting my run down to 4 miles. But the first mile was good and the last was good. Had only a couple down moments with coughing and I think I've really gotten the proper mode of dress for 20-30 degree weather down pat.
So am I redeemed? Am I not such a pussy? Or am I still, because I'm finishing up this entry by whining about how much my knees and legs hurt all day today and made themselves felt during the run.
I stretched a lot post-run and did some foam-roller, and later tonight will do my weights, too. I'm afraid of over or under-doing the physical therapy and screwing up my chances at a good, solid, long-run on Sunday, part of which will be a NYRR 10K. I'd like to set a PR there, and believe I'm completely capable of it, if my legs and lungs both cooperate.