Like any normal runner (or person, for that matter), I check the weather before I head out. During the spring and summer, I tack on 10 degrees to the temperature and then dress for that weather. During the fall and winter, once it drops below 55 degrees, I know I need my gloves (since I already have meh circulation in my hands).
After years of careful calibration, I know which layer combination (or lack thereof) of clothing for every temperature range and weather condition.
It's also how I know when to puss out and run inside on a treadmill.
This past Sunday, it was 22 degrees outside. Weather.com said that felt like 6. With a 23 mph wind coming from the WNW.
Now, I have run races with an 18 mph wind coming off the ocean. I have run them in 90 degrees with crushing humidity, and I have run them in 42 degrees with sheets of rain falling from the sky. I have run when it's so cold that my sweat freezes in my hair.
That's how I know that when it's 22 with a 23 mph wind, my ass is running on a treadmill. But please understand: I hate the treadmill. I can usually top out at 3 miles (4 if I really distract myself). Part of the reason I run is to connect with my surroundings and appreciate the (quiet) sound of my feet hitting whatever ground I'm on. Treadmills are proof that God is vengeful and wants us to suffer. But Mother Nature is worse. Much, much worse. She is malicious and ruthless and takes extreme joy in blowing an arctic blast headwind off of icy water when all you really want to do is stop running and eat a cheeseburger. It's not suffering. It's degradation.
So, I was surprised to see that one of my friends, a newbie-ish runner, actually braved the hellish weather on Sunday and actually ran outside. Didn't she see my posts about avoiding it via the treadmill?! I mean, if someone's like, "Wooo! Seven miles on a treadmill!" aren't you a little suspicious?
Then I remembered that every runner needs to run the gamut of terrible weather (no pun intended). You need to run on the most awful of days, and brave the harshest conditions (within reason - for safety) for a couple reasons:
1. When you're running the race you trained for, and you start to revert back into that dark, internal hole of "Fuck this shit", you can remember that you got up early, got dressed, and ran. Maybe it was raining. Maybe it felt so hot you thought you were running on the goddamned sun. Doesn't matter. You got up and did it. And if you can run on the goddamned sun, you can finish this goddamned race.
2. Until modern science proves otherwise, you can't control the weather on race day. And chances are, the weather conditions you decline to sack-up for will be the exact conditions you have to run in. Period. The summer of 2010 was like, 90 fucking degrees every day. Training was brutal. So I didn't do it. Because my logic was: my marathon is in the midwest, in October. Not a chance in hell it'll be over like, 65 degrees. It's more likely to be 40. And then the weather report in Chicago rolled out, and every day around the marathon was gorgeous, temperate 65, but marathon day was fucking NINETY. NINETY DEGREES. So now, regardless of what season my race is v. what season I'm training in, I run. Because NINETY DEGREES.
3. You need to learn what gear you own that sucks in what conditions, and what gear you better own, or you're going to be one overheated/hypothermic mofo. Lululemon pants make my butt look good, but NEVER run in the rain with them...they weigh about 91039893849 pounds all wet. Learned that at the half marathon in Central Park in a steady, soaking rain. I have 3 different weights of long sleeved shirts. I know which sports bras I can wear for different distances before they start to chafe.
This morning I woke up to get my run in, and the weather said, "35, feels like 26, 10% chance of precipitation, wind is 14 mph SW". So I put on 2 pairs of tights, 2 heavy long sleeves, gloves, the works. And about 1/2 a mile in, it started snowing. Snowing.
So I trudged on, knowing that during whatever mile of whatever race I'm doing in Florida in 6ish weeks (!!!), when I want to stop and just have a beer instead, I can think back and say, "I fucking ran in snow. I fucking ran 7 miles - IN A ROW - on a treadmill. I can finish this race." And when my newbie friend is in the crushing, evil cold of her February half, she can think back to Sunday, when she wanted to punch the wind in it's face, but she finished nonetheless. And she'll keep on going and finish her race, too. Because let's face it: the miles aren't always that sunny, but they always do make us stronger.
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