The last time I ran on snow-packed roads before tonight was on Dec. 22, 2004, a Wednesday evening after Tim Cooper and I took three hours, 35 minutes to drive from Oaklawn Park to North Little Rock. I ran the Levy Loop and wrote, "I've tried to remember the last time I ran in snow and can't. Obviously I did in Wyoming. I must've sometime since, but I can't remember. Next time I run in the snow I will."
This stuff is treacherous; ice and ice-crusted snow. Almost no vehicles are out. A fear of losing traction—falling—was my most significant limiting factor as I jogged the Orange Street Loop in 34:55, with splits of 12:42, 11:15, and 10:58. I felt great, almost like I could have gone forever, except for some uncooperative ground beef and hot sauce consumed two hours earlier as I watched Hashers drink like sturgeons at Senor Tequila. Maybe that can become my "forever" pace, 11:38/mile.
OVERHEARD
"Pete, please tell me you ain't gonna run in this."
—James Taylor, while smoking a cigarette on his front porch. He sang as I departed: "Been walking my mind to an easy time, my back turned toward the sun; Lord knows when the cold wind blows it'll turn your head around."
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