Part of me thinks I post the same stupid stuff at the same stupid time each stupid year. Then an equally pessimistic part of me thinks, "Wait, I never post anything, no one reads this, so who fucking cares?" Both are right, or neither, or C. and I have no idea what C. is but I just saw Slumdog Millionaire so I know that D. is It was written. Not sure how that helps. But I'm going to continue with my point here.
I love running in cold weather. Fact.
Bet you didn't expect that. Or maybe if you do read this blog you would because of the whole same, same, same thing I was bitching about earlier? Or possibly C?
Thing is it really goes along with one of the main themes of this blog, which is about me and running - MY RUNNING. Paul Leone running. REAL RUNNING. And the key to my running? The acceptance and transcendence of pain. REAL PAIN. The kind of pain where your fingers are all numb and tingly, and your lungs feel like you're breathing in well tequila.
It sucks. It hurts. Every step you take is one step closer to not having to be outside anymore. It's awesome. I love it.
Snot pouring out of my nose like a druggie looking for a fix. Face feeling like it's made of glass and is going to shatter at any second. Feet feeling like blocks of cement pounding on bigger angrier blocks of cement that hate the fact that my feet are made of cement. There is absolutely nothing pleasant about running when it's 20 degrees, and windy, therefore making it actually colder than that. Except for the fact that you're running, it hurts, and that's what makes it awesome. It's what makes the entire sport awesome. It's what makes me awesome. And I in turn make mother nature awesome. The circle of life continues.