The roads were in unsafe condition. Incognito black ice hid under drifts of snow. Snow banks were higher than cars and stop signs at most intersections. The exposed pavement on my route was limited, so I lapped through the same neighborhood over and over, like a lost traveler refusing to ask for directions.
It was damn cold and the wind was harsh. I looked like I was dressed for either skiing or bank robbing. My cheeks stung as I ran into the headwind, and thawed and tingled on the return as the winter sun reflected off massive snow berms.
It wasn’t a long run. It wasn’t a fast run. I was a glorious run.
I feel like myself, again.