Making Tracks

I experienced running in snow for the first time today. The forecast had predicted only a 30 percent chance of snow for the morning hours and as much as I do love looking at the weather forecast, it doesn’t mean I always believe what I read. So when I flipped the porch light on to go outside, I was giggle inside happy at the sight of snow. An adult voice in my head quickly piped up over my little girl excitement and said “slippery, hope you don’t fall.” (I’m pleased to report that no slipping or sliding occurred.)

As I turned around my first corner I was thinking about how I’ve always wanted to run in the snow and realized at that moment how much I wanted to enjoy it and pay attention to what I was experiencing. I was surprised how many flakes seemed to fly directly into my eye and I wondered for a minute if it would have made sense to have been wearing my ski goggles. I decided it wasn’t that big of a deal and started to notice how the flakes felt on my cheeks…wet. I hoped I wouldn’t be soaking by the time I got home, but soon I didn’t mind that feeling of a little drip now and then.

The streets on my route this morning were not plowed at all and it didn’t take long for me to realize that there weren’t any kids at the bus stops so there must be a delay or cancellation (our county tends to panic at even minor snow accumulation). There was just enough snow that I couldn’t see the pavement and each street lamp I passed illuminated every falling flake. I watched them sparkle to the ground and thought the moment really was magical.

Running for me is a relatively quiet activity. I don’t listen to music, just my breath and footfalls. This morning, because of the snow, there was minimal traffic and the streets were truly peaceful. But with my feet landing on the soft snow ground, it was even more silent than normal. I was keenly aware of how calm I was this morning and how still everything around me seemed to be. I headed down Broadwater Street which gives me a view of the river and looking past the houses out onto the flat water, patches of ice lightly dusted with snow on top of the water made it look surreal. It’s something a painter would paint. It’s a scene that changes daily and I often think about the morning when, instead of running, I will come down for sunrise with my camera and capture the moment.

At the end of the street there is a tree-lined path that curves around an open field and always makes me feel like I’m in another place. In the spring there are fox along the path, cardinals dip in and out of the low bushes, and it’s easy to just notice nature. On the path today I felt like the people I see in ads for running shoes or maybe a page out of the Patagonia catalog. Just me and the snow.

I smiled as I thought about the tracks I left behind me this morning.