Abort! Abort!

Getting back into the swing of things is really tough after the holidays. It's even harder when it's cold. And boy howdy is it cold here. But I'm of hardy northern stock (plus I have some handy dandy cold weather running gear from when we lived in Michigan) and so I forced myself out of the nice cocoon of warmth in my bed, tore myself away from the furry snuggles of a contented dog, and kitted myself out as if I was going running in Antarctica. Yes, real, honest to goodness northerners (those whose blood hasn't been thinned by a move to more temperate climes--seriously, more temperate? I need to know when this is going to be more obvious since I'm missing the picture somehow) would have laughed their skinny, shivering butts off at me in my arctic togs.

I strapped on the GPS watch on one wrist and the brand spankin' new Road ID on the other and headed outside. Did I mention it was cold? Is it obvious yet that I didn't want to be doing this? So I bounced a bit to warm up, hit the start on the watch, and lumbered off. Not even two driveways down from my own, I had to give a mighty jerk to hike the pants back up where they belonged, having forgotten that they have a habit of sliding dangerously southward until I'm sweaty enough for them to stick and stay up. Then I made the mistake of glancing at the watch and seeing that the dadgummed thing apparently thought it was too cold also and thus hadn't started. My nose started to run and I'd forgotten the first rule of cold weather running: stash copious amounts of tissue into the pocket of your jacket for just such a situation (and while stuffing your bra might be the logical place for the tissues, it makes for soggy, salty, smelly tissues when you need to swipe at the candlewicks dripping down your face).

I was cold, my watch was non-functional, my pants were resolutely sliding down, and the snot was running out of my nose faster than I was running myself. So I hit a cul-de-sac and shuffled home, screaming "Abort! Abort!" in my head the whole way. I consoled myself by saying that I had probably gone a mile (in 3 minutes and 4 seconds according to the wonky, malfunctioning watch) but when I actually clocked the route later this afternoon in the car, I went a whopping half mile. Epic running fail! I swear I am my own worst enemy.

On the plus side, I actually did break a sweat so I will have to choose other pants tomorrow and whining about trying to run and hold pants bunched at your waist, even if only inside my own head, won't be able to be an excuse. Of course, tomorrow's supposed to be cold too and those are my only winter running pants. Somehow I suspect the thick layer of leg hair that I have been carefully cultivating isn't going to mimic the toastiness of the specially lined Antarctic gear. Of course, if these pants fall completely down and expose my nekkid butt to the elements and my long suffering neighbors, it'll be a really cold day in Hell--I'll keep you posted.

As for the rest of the day, well, I retreated to the couch, a down blanket, and a book. More my natural habitat you know, as my atrophied muscles adequately proved today.