I Heart NY

The heat wave has come to an end here in Upstate NY. Snow covers the ground. The sky is the color of prison sheets; and the air bites back. It seems that every laundry load is 80% wicking, technical, wind-proof, or fleecy training clothes. Having spent most of my life on the East Coast, I enjoy this time of year: post-holiday winter. No lights, decorations, or carols to hide that fact that most living things in this weather have gone into a dormant state. I think most folks who live in northern climes and play in it this time of year do so because it's a sort of badge of honor or a thumbing of the nose to those who live in San Diego.
I spent 3 years living in Seattle and remember the first (and only) snowfall while I was there. The city came to a standstill from 3 inches of snow that melted by noon. Only 4 salt trucks for the entire city--and salt wasn't even used. Apparently, it's bad for the salmon. I was told that the city's snow strategy was to pull out all the "Street Closed" signs. We East Coast transplants scoffed at our West Coast brethren and told exagerrated stories of Nor'easters that buried us up to our eyeballs and how we dug out of snow clotted streets with mere kitchen utensils. They had their turn at scoffing when 4 months later I was huddled with my fellow New Englanders under a desk during an earthquake. I'd take a lifetime of snowy, frigid winters over one minute in an earthquake.
This time of year is about stripping down to basics. The air is bracingly clean and there's a slim strip of pavement or trail that isn't too icy to run or snowshoe. Training is base building: just getting in slow steady miles and meters. No fancy speedwork or testing out nutrition on long rides. I don't find this time of year boring at all. Sherry's mantra has always been,"We run in ANYTHING!" The rewards of extracting myself from a warm bed are crisp sunrises where the snow hangs in the air like magical dust and every woodpecker, chickadee, blue jay, red-tailed hawk, and kestrel makes themselves obvious with clear birdsongs against bare trees. 85 degree yoga studios feel best this time of year.
In no time we'll be outside doing our long rides at midday, trying to acclimatize to the heat and fine-tuning our sodium intake. Sunny and humid race days will be upon us. Until then I'm more than happy to don my mittens, tighten my snowshoe straps, and see just how windproof my running jacket is. I'm in no hurry.