In the Snow
/The concept of looking out the window and thinking I’ve got to run in this is both indefensible and irresistible. (Feel free to substitute the word run with whatever fits you; we all do things that seem crazy to people around us.)
Monday, when we were hunkered down in our house due to sub-freezing wind and snow, when we had friends all over town who were living in cold dark houses thanks to The Great Texas Power Failure, yet it was warm and cozy for us – we had heat and lights and hot water and no kids to entertain – Cyndi and I looked out the window and realized we were anticipating our daily walk and a run through the neighborhood.
One advantage of walking around the park before going to run … you can evaluate your wardrobe choices before committing full on to the run. After our one-mile walk, Cyndi and I parted company. I took off on my regular neighborhood three-mile route and she left to check on her yoga studio and see if anyone showed up for class.
Right away my iPod failed … the battery gave up trying to work in the cold. I should have put it closer to my skin to keep it warm, an engineering solution I’ll need to perfect. But the run was sweet. Not as slippery as expected. I broke trail most of the way, meaning my tracks were the first ones in the snow.
Running in the snow is fun because it’s so quiet. Especially when there’s little traffic on the streets. And it’s anonymous - I’m wearing so much clothing no one can get a good look at me; especially when I have my hood pulled up over my head. The mystery makes me feel strong; no one gets a good peek at who I really am.
Snow also dampens everything: the sounds, the light and visibility, even my field of vision. Running while the snow is falling reduces my thoughts to a very small sphere, and I withdraw into my clothes and huddle up. I feel alone and hidden – never open and exposed like I do in summertime running. The solitude is comforting.
I know our inlaws-in-law from Wisconsin laugh at Texans reaction to two inches of snow and a little cold wind, but I don’t care. We could live in Wisconsin if we wanted to, but we don’t. I don’t want to live in a place where tolerance for snow and ice is a requirement. I’d rather live where snow is rare. In fact, one of the reasons I like winter weather is because I live in west Texas. I like our winters, not theirs.
The Bible doesn’t have much to say about snow. I suppose the early readers were familiar enough with snow for Isaiah to use it to describe what can happen to our sins: "Come now, let us reason together," says the Lord. "Though your sins are like scarlet, they shall be as white as snow.” (Isaiah 1:18) But it was rare enough date the exploits of one of David’s Mighty Men: “Benaiah was a valiant fighter who performed great exploits. He struck down two of Moab's best men. He also went down into a pit on a snowy day and killed a lion.” (2 Samuel 23:20)
Bible writers didn’t get much inspiration from snow itself. Maybe they would’ve spent more time considering snow had they lived near the Rocky Mountains instead of near the Mediterranean.
I went running again Thursday evening. The forecast told us the cold would break and the sun might come out, but neither happened. It did warm up to 22*, but all the slush and snowmelt was refrozen and slick … much more dangerous than Monday.
This time I encountered several other runners. Two, in particular, were running toward me, and both deferred to me, moving out of their way and off their trajectory to give me space. Either I (1) looked unstable and unpredictable, or (2) I looked like their grandfather. Maybe both.
After all that, I’m looking forward to next week when the weather should be the type to remind us why it’s good to be in Texas in February.
“I run in the path of Your commands, for You have set my heart free.” Psalm 119:32
