Frozen legs

It was 32 degrees outside this morning. So I ran eight miles.

Of course, "so" is not the proper coordinating conjunction here; perhaps "yet" would be more appropriate. Sunday morning is about the only time I can semi-conveniently fit in a run longer than 3-4 miles, so I guard the opportunity vigilantly, even when my well-meaning husband tries to encourage me to stay in bed.

Running outside when the temperature is near freezing (or at, in this case) is a very peculiar sensation, at least to me. My skin is tingly-numb from the biting cold, even under my layers and highly functional but not glamorous free running gloves. But my muscles, primarily quads and hamstrings--not the entire body, are saturated with internal warmth from the exertion and resulting circulation being directed there away from my extremities.

It reminds me of a reverse incarnation of Lisa Simpson's fish sticks: "They're burned on the outside but they're frozen on the inside, so it balances out!"