Even despite the restrictions, there's something magical about this time of year; the decorations are up, the houses are festooned with lights, the kids are increasingly full of sugar and there's a general air of excitement as the advent countdown continues. In terms of running, however, the situation is slightly different.
To the casual
observer the great outdoors is increasingly cold, wet, unforgiving and
requiring of one’s ‘big coat’ at this time of year. Temperatures plummet like
Donald Trump’s chances of scooping the award for 2020’s Most Dignified Loser of
The Year and mobile phones across the land ping with assorted weather warnings
for ice, snow, floods and gales. Those in Scotland, meanwhile, have even
managed to trump the spectacle of a December snow storm by inventing an
entirely new dramatic weather phenomenon of their own, thundersnow.
All this may
suggest to the humble runner that it is indeed time to dig out the base layers
and spend Black Friday hunting for bargain thermal gloves and hats, all of
which may now be needed before trainers are donned and GPS signal
connected...right?
Wrong. This is a
false dawn. December, it transpires, is a liar.
Glance out the
window and the dark, grey, blustery conditions seem wholly uninviting. The neighbours
are getting blown up the road as they take their reluctant dog for a walk, the
rain-filled clouds are whipping across the sky at speed and the autumn leaves
are being dashed against the glass. It looks bad.
Under such
circumstances the runner does what any sensible person would do after peering
through the curtains, he wraps up for the weather. Squeezing into running
leggings, sliding on an Under Armour top and accessorising with hat and gloves,
he heads out for his Sunday long run prepared for the arrival of the next ice
age at some point over the following two hours. The thing is, it never arrives.
In fact, by the time he gets to the end of the road he already realises he's
made a terrible mistake, as I did this weekend.
Three minutes
into my Sunday run and my head was already too hot. My hands, meanwhile, were
enjoying the warmth, but in a 'this is nice, but not really necessary' kind of
way, while my legs were embarrassed to be wrapped in glorified stockings.
Yes, it was cold
and yes December is cold, but it's amazing how quickly one forgets that the act
of running makes you hot. The appearance, five minutes further into my run, of
a fellow runner in nothing more than shorts and t-shirt, only made matters
worse.
"Morning," he
said as we passed, the smug look in his eyes betraying his real thoughts; "what's this loon thinking, dressed up like we're in Siberia? He'll regret
that!" And I was regretting it. I had the prospect of a further 17KM ahead of
me, either overheating or having to carry my redundant hat and gloves, looking
like a cross between an amateur athlete and a Victorian squire.
Damn you
December!
So my advice to you all at the tail end of the year; look after the extremities (in my case
gloves and a hat to keep my ears from freezing), but don't worry too much about the rest, unless you're in Scotland, in which case take a shovel and
a week's rations with you, just in case.
[Adapted from a post first written in December 2018, when I wasn't injured and could run 17KM in the wrong kit!]
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