The crunch of snow beneath my feet becomes deafening, I all alone, steam rising from my head, deep breaths are all I hear. It is almost 8:00 am, a late start on this Monday. It is a whopping 12 degrees, even after the sun came up. I'm running out in the street because everything else is coated with 2 inches of fresh powder, just begging to make me slip. Traffic seems light and I'm deep in the zone. As I round the corner down the hill on my way towards work, i am nearly run of the road, by a ford festiva, black. What makes this a unique occurrence? other than the fact that pretty much all the festivas are dead, this person had a HUGE sticker that read "Les Miserables school edition on it." Pretty sure I was almost run over by a high school drama teacher.

Sundays are often my rest days, yesterday was spent doing just that, recouping from the long week, and considering the great things I have in my life. I appreciate the chance I have to ocassionally take days off from training, to realize how much I like training, and to notice all the other good things I have.

Heart pounding, iPod blaring, the road seems to float effortlessly beneath my feet. Looking forward the road is nearly covered in ice, traffic is nearly non existent.
"keep going, only a little further" I tell myself
It's 11 degrees, my gloves are covered in frost from the sweat escaping from my hands. The last of the water from my morning shower is frozen in my hair beneath my hat. I can feel the cold burning in my lungs as I push my self for another mile. Focusing on the next step, I hear the cars as they get up and head out on the roads. The sun peaks over the mountains to the east, and my legs are burning.

"what are you doing? it is 11 degrees at 6:30 am on a saturday! Normal people sleep in on the weekend, here you are, wearing glasses to keep your eyelashes from freezing!" I think to myself.

"I'm training, proving I can do it. This is how you get better, you gotta be consistent, even when it sucks. Anyone can run when it is nice" I retort inside my head "Get going legs, we've got just a few miles left"

My internal dialog fades, slipping back into the rhythm of my footsteps, echoing against the canyon walls, trying to focus on my goals, I focus on determination and being tough enough for this sport. Then I think back on my conversations as a college athlete, realizing that as a distance runner, my sport is every other sport's punishment. Suddenly I realize why being an endurance athlete is so hard. They are the only sports you never win. You get better, you get faster, you go further, but you're never done. You can always get better. While other sports are a test of teamwork, and skill, endurance sports are pure toughness. It is a test of the strength of will more than anything, and so I continue to run when it is 11 degrees.

8 miles - morning run
4.5 miles- commute to work
4.5 miles- commute home from work