Winter In My HouseJanuary 25, 2013
Winter running has finally hit, and so has winter everything. I love winter running. My dad thinks my lungs will freeze if I run in the frigid air, but as long as my water bottle doesn’t freeze, I love cold running. It’s been in the single digits this week, and I’m feeling January in my bones. I am all over the winter running, but the rest of the day, I lust for Spring. Yesterday, I bought a new duvet. Today, I booked Henry’s next mystery trip (shhhh, don’t tell) for Spring Break: beach, Florida, seashells.
And then tonight, I came home to a broken furnace.
My house was 42 degrees.
I put on a second sweater. And my parka. And then I built a fire, and I poured some Malbec that I discovered was chilled by the air of my kitchen.
Then I made dinner in my parka while waiting for the oil company to call me back. I repeated my new mantra: “Strong… Calm… ” while cooking eggs.
I’d happily run a marathon in 42 degrees, which is on the warm side, if you ask me. I’m not happy, however, when my house is 42 degrees. I am about 24 hours from my first and totally unapologetic visit to a tanning salon. I will drink coffee while I tan.
The furnace man is coming tomorrow morning.
I was going to run on the treadmill tonight, but I can’t take off my giant black parka so it’s a de facto rest day. And there you have it: the irony of my love of winter running. Strong. Calm. I am woman, hear me roar. In my parka. In my house. I can’t wait to go for a cold winter run this weekend in my mittens and my hat… and come back to a house that is 68 degrees.