Triumph in the face of adversity

I said snow. I'd like some SNOW. Not ice. Not hail. Snow.

I looked out the window this morning at what I thought were isolated patches of snow, tied my running shoe laces and headed out into the darkness for an extended 10 km run to work. As soon as I stepped out, I saw that it wasn't going to be easy. The ground had turned into an ice rink and what I thought was snow was crystallised ice. I started running carefully but the crystallised ice was easy to run on, because they provided enough friction for my shoes.

But it wasn't like that everywhere. Large areas of the pavement were covered in mirror like, polished ice, and my poor Dorothies found no purchase. Still, I kept my balance, even if my speed was not that great. A teenage girl trying to cross the road on her bicycle wasn't as lucky; the bike skidded across the ice and she fell on her face, and lay there motionless. I ran to her and asked her how she was, hoping that my reflective vest was visible enough for any oncoming cars to see us there in the middle of the road. She slowly got up, obviously shocked but with no signs of injury. She said her leg hurt, but otherwise she was ok. I asked her if she could walk, and she said yes. She thanked me and was on her way. It could have been much, much worse. I ran a little more carefully after that.

I was worried that my speed was so low that I wouldn't make it to work on time. I shouldn't have worried about that, because soon enough I'd have bigger fish to fry. The second half of my run was accompanied by headwind and hailstones pouring down from the sky, whipping my cheeks and fogging up my glasses. At the same time, the street lights went out, although it was still dark. I couldn't see a thing. But strangest thing: I enjoyed every second of it. No, strike that. I loved it.

What's even stranger, but oh so wonderful, was that my foot did not bother me. Not even once.