Winter Running

This is an oldie I found in a notebook from the Wyoming days. The memories came flooding back when I was in Calgary a couple days ago--minus 22F and fresh snow on the ground. Brrrr!

Outside the snow is falling in big, soft flakes. The flag hangs straight down the pole, unbuoyed by wind. At five minutes to 12, I pull my running clothes from my bottom desk drawer and slip quietly out of the office. My faithful running partner meets me at precisely noon and we trot off into the white abyss. For the first five minutes, we work to avoid cars and the hard-packed, slippery surface, but once we turn onto the golf course, the untracked snow is soft and powdery.

Here, on this soundless winter day, there are no disturbances, no other signs of life. The snow continues to fall, leaving fluffy white flakes in our hair and eyelashes. For 20 minutes we run in companiable silence, enjoying the quiet solitude after the past few days of vicious howling winds. Those runs were laborious, leaving us irritable and unsatisfied. But today we enjoy the peaceful calm afforded us by the still air and the steadily falling snow.

As we leave the golf course and reenter civilization, we begin to chat again, sharing the difficulties of our work days and the events of our love lives. We have no secrets between us; everything comes out on our daily noon runs.

Our shoes are wet, socks soggy from the sloppy roads leading back into town. Back at our starting point, we make snow angels on the lawn before heading back to our respective offices. Tomorrow the snow will be crusty and uneven, the streets icy.

But today was perfect.