I make it a point to never look at the thermometer before I got for a run, especially in the winter. I like to run in complete ignorance of how cold it is so I don't get that creeping dread of my upcoming run - or even worse, the popping up of the dreaded excuse demon. It is just another one of the many mental games I play on myself that seems to work to get my lazy butt outside.
This morning was no exception. I got up early, got dressed in my running tights, two mid-weight layers, a hat, and a thin wind breaking jacket. This is my normal winter running wear, unless it is really cold. When it is really cold, I wear...more.
In my head, it was pretty warm out, I was thinking it had to be at least 15 degrees, if not warmer. I stepped on the porch (THE PORCH) and was smacked in the face by bitter cold. I thought, well, I guess I should put on another layer, it seems pretty cold. I grabbed my mini puffy coat (as opposed to the big puffy coat. I have a thing for puffy coats), and put up the hood and headed out.
Holy crap. I was freezing. I usually start out on the cool side of comfort, but this was kind of ridiculous. Never wearing gloves unless it is below zero (in my head) I shoved my hands up in the jacket and began my run up the hill in town, figuring I will warm up as I always do.
When I run, all sorts of things float through my head in a kind of stream of consciousness type conversation with myself (this is why I can't deal with iPods, how am I supposed to listen to the voices in my head AND Eminem?) On this mornings run, basically the conversation in my head went something like, "F its cold. My eyelashes are frozen. F its cold. My left butt cheek is cold. F F F F F WTF?" for about 3.2 miles (for a great of Mainer's take on the weather, listen to this - the video that goes with it isn't worth watching, but Maine comedian Bob Marley nails it).
I finally came through the door and looked at the thermometer.
In the sun.
No wonder my left butt cheek was cold.