A Love Affair

The Mt. Vernon Trail at Mile 15.

It’s no secret: I love running in D.C. And while I’ve blogged about my runs in and around the city in the past, there are moments when my passion for covering its ground is reignited. Yesterday, in the gray morning light, during a routine six miler, I had one such run where the words came as quickly as my footfalls and it was all I could do to hold it in….

When I stepped out of the car, the wind cut through my jacket as if I was wearing nothing at all. It was the kind of cold that reaches through you and into your bones. White clouds stretched over the sky and matched the blanket of snow that lingered from Friday’s storm. If the sky didn’t betray the threat of snow, the sharp smell in the air erased any doubt. I squinted through the wind, making my way to the back of my car to get a quick stretch on and pluck my iPod and ear buds.

I surveyed the unusually sparse parking lot that normally teems with bikers, runners, and picnickers. Where visitors normally stalk parking spaces, I had the pick of the lot. A couple of black Lincolns idled, their drivers on cell phones or thumbing through the morning paper, waiting for their passenger to arrive.

Satisfied and just damn cold, I slammed the backdoor. The wind gathered noise until it reached a near deafening roar. I tilted my head back and followed the 737 folding up its wheels and gaining altitude as it began to trace the Potomac River and disappear into the clouds.

I ducked into the porta-potty and didn’t bother wrangling the plastic door shut. With nothing left, I began.

Just the other day, I found myself romanticizing about the notion of having snow on the ground. The mercury read 52 and something about seeing that in January just didn’t feel right. Friday night, I got my wish and reluctantly had to postpone my Saturday morning run to Sunday. With my dad in town and an early flight out of Reagan Airport, that’s how I found myself in the unusual position of standing alone in Gravelly Point, just 400m shy of the 15 mile marker on the Mount Vernon Trail.

My first tentative steps to warm up my ankle came and went, and as I trotted by that 15 mile marker, my stride returned, the wind receded, and I knew this was going to be one of “those runs.”

I passed under the 14th street bridge, which offered the first glimpse of the Jefferson memorial. The trail meandered alongside the choppy black water. The silence and the gray made the stone monuments and bridges somehow colder and more imposing. It was as if the storm had drained the color from the trail and muted its soundtrack of passing cars, bike bells, and breathy conversations. Even my outfit, black tights and a gray top, fit the landscape.  Only the yellow dashes marking the trail lanes in each direction blazed the way.

Something about that stillness and gray canvas called on past memories of commuting over this bridge into high school every day.

After Memorial Bridge, I charged by the 17 mile marker and stepped carefully around the frozen puddles. As the trail neared its end, the asphalt became wooden planks that linked it to Roosevelt Island. Here, the snow and ice had not melted. I turned off my iPod and listened to the silence that cracked with the crunch of the snow and ice underfoot. I traded views of the Kennedy Center and Lincoln Memorial for the archway of bare branches that opens up to the TR Island parking lot. I chuckled thinking that the last time I made this run, I was shirtless and just meters away from hitting my 400 mile goal.

I made the hard U-turn to start the back end of my out and back and watch the monuments reappear. As I retraced my steps, the clouds gave way and the first flurries of the morning spilled over before a light snow began to fall. A smile broke over my frozen face and I fought the urge to drop the pace to tempo even though every instinct in my body screamed for me to drive forward. Instead, I held back to enjoy that rare moment of having this regularly busy section of the Mt. Vernon trail to myself. I wasn’t quite ready to reenter the real world and let this chapter of my love affair with the City end.

Treadmill 1 - On the bus...Running 0

Slight lag between when I finished the post and actually posted since we lost power last night...and this morning.  Back up and running now (so to speak)....

I’m coming to you live from colonial times, well, that is if they had computers in colonial times.  I’m typing this post by candlelight as this winter’s “storm force” lands a substantial blow on the D.C. area.  I was fortunate enough to flee work at 3:00 today before the mass exodus began.  Mrs. Onthebusrunning has been on the road for four hours now.  It took me 1/4th the time to cover nine miles last night in my tempo then it has for her to cover the same nine miles by car tonight...but I won’t bring that up.

Anyway, because I was lucky enough to get out of work today, it afforded me sufficient OCD time to get my run in.  Normally on days like this, I’m the first out the door to take to the golf course and tackle my run in the snow storm outside.  Tonight was a little different.

First off, my knee felt the effects of yesterday’s run and the sharp incline/decline on the golf course hills has beaten me up lately.  Rather than combat the slippery roads and sidewalks, I decided to take things inside and onto the treadmill.  

I’ve made it clear how I feel about the treadmill.  Lately, however, I’ve had pretty good success on it.  Other than not being able to spit, and the odd feeling of wearing shorts and t-shirt while watching the frigid wind rip through the bare trees outside, it’s been just fine.  

So I had few reservations about getting on tonight to crank out five miles.  Instead of driving to the gym, I decided to fulfill my appetite for running outside in the snow by taking the golf cart path that was rapidly disappearing.  Roundtrip, this would give me 6.5 miles for the day.

I pulled on some wind pants, an old pair of running shoes, stuffed my ipod and gym card into a zip lock baggy, and trotted outside.  

The solitude is really what draws me to running in the snow.  The storm pulls a white blanket over the world that stills the ambient noise and settles in the silence.  It’s one of those loneliness of the long distance runner moments where you’re slushing along by yourself, just listening to the snow pack under your feet, and the tinkling of sleet skating over the snow.

Contrast this to the harsh fluorescent lights and thumping music at the gym, I don’t think there’s any debate to be had.  But that’s just me.

When I got to the gym, I was shocked to see other people as stupid, I mean as dedicated, as me already there.  Including on the treadmill.  I nearly lost it when I looked over at the treadmills and their users just whirring away.  On second glance, I saw that there was indeed one open.

I shook the snow off, tucked my soaking winter garments into a cubby hole and went to work.  The stream of thoughts went something like this:

Yes, sir.  5.4 miles, 40 minutes.  Piece of cake.  What’s on TV?  Oh, yeah, the storm.  Huh, 4-11 inches, way to narrow things down.  $%^&* Oops, don’t drift and fall off. Ok.  How we doing?  1:37.  Ok, stop looking at the clock.  Lot of snow out there.  Is that woman looking at me?  Why is she looking at me?  I didn’t fart.  I could, but I won’t...on purpose.  Crap, I didn’t bring any water.  Whatever, it’s only 5.4 miles, that’s now 5.2 miles.  Hmm, wonder how much time has gone.  2:45.  Don't be a clockwatcher. Oh, I like this song.  You can look at the clock again when the song is over.  Ok, just a quick peek.  3:20.  Huuumph.  

And so it went.  Fifteen minutes in, I took a look around and noticed that I had the whole gym to myself.  It’s as if everyone came to their senses at once and split.  You can guess the first thing I did.

Secondly, I discovered the pause button because I became very aware of how thirsty I’d gotten and the large amount of sweat I’d flung onto the screen.  I hopped off, took a couple gulps of water, then got back to it.  Slowly.  I felt exhausted and the clock seemed to be turning backward.  If it had been a nightmare, I also would have looked down and realized I was naked.

I slogged through the second half of that workout.  When the clock mercifully hit 40:00, I pounded the “stop” button and teetered back to the aerobics area for a quick stretch and to let some of that sweat dry.

When I did finally leave, I half expected to come out of the gym and have it be the next day because I’d been at it for so long.

The best part of the trip was of course running back through the snow.  It had gotten significantly deeper, so much so, that my original tracks had already been covered up.  The sleet and wind intensified, which stung my face.  I ran a good portion either turned to the side or with my eyes closed.  But I relished it.  I felt better in the snow for those 10 minutes than I had on the treadmill.  

Go figure.