Of course, even after the running is done and all you’re longing for is the warm, comforting embrace of the indoors… someone invariably wants to take a photo.
But then who can resist… those puckered faces, the frost dangling from your hair and eyelashes, the looks of frozen bewilderment resembling nothing less than a half-crazed fitness buff who has spent the better part of an hour in temperatures fit for human nor beast.
Take a photo. Of course. No one is going to believe you otherwise.
After running fourteen klicks in the bitter cold over this past weekend, my mouth refused to cooperate with my brain.
In fact, there exists a state somewhere comfortably situated between chattering teeth and frostbitten skin where the mouth goes numb and one finds that talking becomes a chore of some difficulty only bested by the difficulty of trying to understand someone speaking in that condition.
Some folks might tell you that this state of affairs is far from unusual, but alas this past weekend my excuse had more to do with frozen cheeks and frozen lips and generally frozen face than anything more permanent.