Calming the Tempest

Praise the heavens that it's Friday.  I had a heck of a day yesterday.  You know how animals can like, sense things? Like, earthquakes and weather?  I wonder if I kind of had a touch of that yesterday; a premonition of sorts.  It's out of character for me to be grumpy like I was for no good reason.  The weather has been beautiful this last week and a half and I've been reveling in it like a cat stretched lazily in a ray of sunshine.  And then yesterday I woke up just, in a bad mood.  I don't think I let people on about it. I hope I minded my manners despite the dark cloud that hung above my head; figuratively and literally.  I think this mood was a sense of foreboding for the storm that was looming.  Around 11 am the winds picked up to an alarming speed, snow and hail pelted down making metallic pings on our trucks parked outside.  The pings were quickly drowned out by roaring thunder.  Thunder, you guys.  I didn't even know that was possible in a blizzard.  Lightning flashed and snow piled up outside our door in a matter of minutes to the point that I had to put all of my weight against the door just to get it to open.  I have never seen a storm as furious as this in the winter.  While a part of me fretted about my long run I had planned for the afternoon, most of me was so awestruck by the fury of the tempest out my window.  In a weird way, it dissipated whatever sullen scud had settled in me.

The worst of the storm was over in about an hour, though it continued to snow heavily for the next two.  It was heavy snow that turned to thick slush almost immediately.  It had been piling up on the roads the entire time when a snowplow came barreling down the boulevard far too fast for the conditions.  Our lab sits about 30 feet off the main road and it sounded like thunder or an earthquake as it approached us.  Not a second later, our lab was blasted with an immeasurable about of snow and slush.  It was so much, it shook our entire lab; the sound was so loud, I thought the walls had been blasted in.  I turned with the sound and looked out my window just in time to see our fence be barraged with ice and slush, ripping half of it out of the ground and blowing it down like a child blowing out a candle.  Screams called out from all over the lab, it scared me so bad, it took five minutes for my pulse to return to normal.  I honestly cannot believe it didn't shatter all of our windows.
It was insane, I tell you.  The roads home told the story of the blizzard that had raged a few hours prior.  Though the storm had all but subsided, ice had hardened in uneven patterns making the drive jarring and uncomfortable.  When I finally walked through door at home, I had planned to change immediately into my leggings and running shoes before I could sit down.  I just wanted to get my run out the way so I could start on the exhausting amounts of homework that weighed down my backpack.  Unfortunately, I was greeted with a whimpering dog who had very obviously been sick the entire day.  There was throw up and poop everywhere.  Lucky for me, the most of it wasn't on the carpet, but I still had to spend an hour cleaning it all up, disinfecting, and stain treating my house.  I honestly can't think of anything worse I could have come home to.  After a long hour sterilizing, I was tired and the haze of bitterness had settled back on my shoulders.   More than anything, I wanted to go take a shower and crawl into bed for the next 48 hours.  The idea nearly made me salivate as I vigorously washed my hands up to my elbows for the next two minutes.  But- as I've mentioned before, I'm a creature of habit, and my exercise routine has nestled itself tightly into my habits and I knew I would only feel worse if I missed my run.  Plus, my next run is supposed to be 12 miles long and I knew that I needed to condition myself in preparation.

I barricaded Josh in the kitchen with his bed and bowls of food and water, and I went upstairs to change.  Like Tuesday when I had slept late, I walked out my door to find I only had upwards towards 40 minutes before the sun set behind the mountains.  The air was cool, but not harsh; it actually was crisp and clean.  The storm had drawn people to their warm homes and the streets were empty and quiet.  I turned on my audio book and started to run.  A few weeks ago, I found myself complaining a lot about my long runs.  I voiced my disdain towards training for a half-marathon.  I knew the race was fun, but I genuinely didn't like the conditioning.  Kristen commented on a post a couple weeks ago and told me that she loved the long runs.  She told me they were the best part about training and the rest was just fitting in the mileage; she told me they were special.  After she told me this, I almost felt guilty.  Like, I had been missing out and not appreciating a hidden treasure.  I decided I desperately needed to change my attitude about the longer runs, and since doing so I have found a great joy in every run.  Even the smaller ones. Last night's run was no exception.  The cool air and calmness that had blanketed Midway opened me up and expelled the bad energy I had been harboring this week.  The colors that bled through the thick winter clouds as the sun set behind Timpanogous warmed me to my core despite the dropping temperatures.  My spirit that had been bound by the ties or exhaustion, brooding and overall contempt broke through and was liberated in the cool, February evening.  I found my heart in the sky and my soul in the mountains.  I finally understood what Kristen had meant when she said the long runs are special.

I slept so soundly last night, and I woke up refreshed and cheerful; excited for Friday and the weekend ahead.  I know I owe my light heart to the miles I put behind me last night and I genuinely look forward to my 12 mile run this weekend.

1 comment:

  1. That picture of the barn and the snow and the sunset is my favorite ever. I want it on my wall.

    THUNDERSNOW is real. It's happened here a few times and it's always so crazy.


No need to stalk in silence, leave a comment.
do it.

There was an error in this gadget