Ryan in Florida, the rest of us in New Hampshire
It’s Jan. 25th — 0 degree F. It’s chilly. Quite frigid. Too cold to run, some might say. And yet for one member of our motley UVRC crew, it is actually quite balmy. Ryan has made the calculated—some might say informed—decision to run in Florida. He is living it up in the sunny beachside roads of Clearwater, palm trees abound, soaking in the lovely weather on his half-marathon along the coast.
He has left the rest of us—Jim, Sean and I—to fend for ourselves in the dastardly cold temps of New Hampshire. Now to be fair, the way that I had intended to fend for myself was to not run. As still a somewhat newcomer to the upper valley, running in these temps has until now been a foreign concept. My first winter here I avoided running whenever it went below 30. My second winter I spammed the treadmill. And this third winter, well, it occurred to me that the natural progression was to fully embrace a philosophy of YOLOness, at least as much as it applied to outdoor running in the cold.
Even still, these temps were testing my limits. I had read somewhere that at certain temps cold enough, running outside actually starts to damage your lungs. 5 degrees, I told myself, would be my limit. But I had known for a while that Jim and Sean were planning on doing the race, and swayed by their seasoned optimism, I wanted in. I do love racing.
The day before the race there was a dilemma. Race started at 10am, and at noon, the forecasted onset of quite a spectacular blizzard. Driving back home from Derry would be a challenge, and Jim and Sean’s plans for a brewery tour would almost certainly be thwarted. We even thought the race might be canceled, but instead, organizers encouraged an hour early start, at 9am, which we decided prudently to take up.
And so the Boston Prep 16 miler race starts at 9, and Jim, Sean, and I are in it. Energy is high, despite the temps being uncannily low. Something about this iteration being special for its slight-out of ordinariness, of being held in such cold weather with an impending snowstorm looming, brings about an air of enthusiasm. The actual course is quite difficult, with rolling hills that just keep on rolling, but fueled by this energy and half-frozen gels I am feeling good.
Until I am no longer. Let me paint you a picture. Miles 1-10 = fun. Miles 10-12 = hill. Big hill. Hill that doesn’t seem like it wants to stop going up. Unreasonably so. Uncaringly so. Unavoidably so. All I know is hill. HILL.
But this hill, as all things, comes to pass, and we start rolling down. And it becomes a little fun again, and at this point it has begun to snow. And at mile 13.5, it has begun to snow PROPER, and the snow is starting to stick on the ground. And now I am running faster since the hill is behind me but I notice that someone is catching up to me so I try to run even faster still. But at this point it is too late and this person passes me but as she does I follow her to pass another runner so it evens out. And then I realize “WOW! I am running in a blizzard!”. And I relish in this thought for a couple of cycles until the last couple of minutes of my race are blurred together by the blinding white of all-encompassing snow and the last dregs of effort I can muster. Which at this point in this race, is very little effort.
And then we finish, and I think to myself — wow, this has been quite the memorable event! Made even memorable, I daresay, by the fact that Jim, Sean and I have each won quite the bespoke prize of New Hampshire maple syrup!! Not quite as good as Vermont syrup, Sean will say, but I will confess my ignorance here and say I do not know the difference.
All in all, a 10/10 event. Ryan, you were here with us in spirit.
for anyone who would like to digest some of this recap in video format: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=jS80kLONxmw