For me, there’s real value in running through the winter, not the least of which is that winter makes up a serious chunk of the year.
“If you didn’t run in the winter, you wouldn’t run very much,” McDonald says.
But, facing down icy, gale-force winds isn’t exactly something to relish, especially in tights, and sometimes it takes a superhuman amount of willpower to leave the house. This is where having a goal really helps. Putting the cold days into context is an excellent way of getting out there. In fact, January is peak season for the Running Room’s training clinics and learn-to-run programs.
“I call it positive peer pressure,” says John Stanton, founder and president of the Running Room.
Once I’m out and moving, I’m always glad I did it. Winter running is beautiful. Travelling along the frozen river valley pathways, which are often better-groomed than the roads, I see the city in a whole new light. Hoarfrost clinging to the branches, Canada geese huddling on the snow-covered riverbanks, steam rising from cracks in the ice. When the snow is fresh, it’s like a blanket of silence has fallen over the city. All I hear is the soft squeaking of my shoes and my breath puffing out in white plumes. It’s peaceful.
And then there are the bragging rights, because it’s not just 10 km any more; it’s 10 km in 25-below. Maybe this is reproachable, but, for me, bravado is a necessary part of the winter running experience. I need to tell people – a lot of people – that I ran in -25C in order to pump myself up to do it again. See, the toughest enemy in the winter running business isn’t the cold; it’s my own mind throwing out every trick in the book in hopes I’ll stay inside. Braggadocio is simply one more weapon in my arsenal of Gore-Tex and fleece.
One time, I ran six km through a blizzard to get to work. When I got there, the office was locked and silent – every last one of my co-workers got stuck in traffic. I stood there, teeth chattering, for half an hour. But the swagger lasted me till spring.