Last Sunday I ran 9 miles. It was in the 20s with a biting wind and I considered bailing, but I paid good cash money for a race next month, my first in 18 months, and I don't want to embarrass myself.
(Plantar fasciitis is the devil. It's been a slow recovery).
I also needed to get out the house. I was snappy and tense and didn't like the sound of my voice; nor did I want to deal with the damn dirty kitchen (again) or laundry pile (still and always).
The sidewalks were covered in snow and ice, forcing me & my shaky, aging ankles onto the road. I told myself I'd just do the 5mile loop around town.
Two miles in, my hands were still cold inside my gloves and I'd stopped blowing my nose because the snot was insulating my sinuses. But a mile later, when I reached the spot where my roads diverged, I turned right and kept going.
I ran facing traffic but my presence in the street still enraged one driver enough to warrant a double angry fist pump. Another laid on the horn so aggressively I nearly fell into a snow bank. But I also got a thumbs up from a farmer in a pick up and a not unattractive man grinned at me at a stop sign. Most drivers just edged over a few feet and carried on.
By the time I made it back to my car and home I felt peaceful. It was a nice reminder in the midst of my mid-life angst that the journey is the point. Even off path and against traffic.