Murder got me out the door for today’s run. Last week, it was reality TV. Before that, it was stories of human cloning and convenience store hijinks.
From Agatha Christie mysteries to Emily Nussbaum’s excellent insights on reality TV in “Cue the Sun!” to Conan O’Brien’s thoughtful and absurd interviews (and endless co-worker bickering) on his podcast, my running soundtrack of audiobooks and podcasts is all over the place, in the best way. Some days, knowing all the great options I have to choose from is the impetus I need to put on my shoes.
As we power through the bleak midwinter, extra motivation can be especially helpful. While some of us revel in those frosty runs—I count myself among them at times—there are many things winter is not. It is not the season for fast paces, reveling in sunshine, or crossing paths with friendly dogs and kids on bikes. For year-round outdoor runners, it can feel downright solitary out there, with every day offering more of the same.
But that monotony makes it a great time to lean into running’s other benefits. With the solitude comes the peace of quiet streets. The sensations of frost-nipped cheeks, slightly numb toes, that dropped-stomach, almost-losing-your-balance sensation when you slide on some ice while sidestepping snow berms.
The experiences are small, but you notice them more. The roads are quiet. The landscape is muted bordering on humdrum, a tone-on-tone palette of icy blues, frosty whites, and misty grays. No, it’s not necessarily thrilling, but it sets the tone for reflection, letting your mind wander, exploring. On a winter run, the pressure is off.
This other day I woke up feeling foggy, stuck in a strange out-of-body disconnection I’ve experienced occasionally since childhood. After coffee and a laughable attempt to snap myself out of it by slapping my own cheeks, I decided what I needed was a cold winter run. The air was freezing and damp, the kind of chill you can’t forget about even when you’ve been running for 30 minutes. My run didn’t totally shake me out of my fuzzy state of mind. But after six chilly miles accompanied by the syncopation of my feet, my heart, and my breath, I felt more like myself, ready to handle the afternoon ahead.
Winter strips things down. It’s not a time for showing off, impressive paces, setting big goals. It’s about the good stuff.
The good stuff?
- Running with a friend.
- Listening to something you enjoy—whether that’s a favorite podcast, a good book, your running playlist, or just the sounds of your shoes hitting the pavement.
- Laughing at holiday decorations gone wrong (like the neighbor’s house with the gruesome severed head left hanging after Halloween well into December).
- Mulling over life’s big questions, like where the squirrels have gone, and where squirrels poop when they aren’t gone—and also, why you don’t know the answers to these age-old questions by now.
- Thinking, rethinking, letting your mind wander, making brilliant insights, mentally rehashing old arguments, letting them go.
Time on the run isn’t only measured by miles logged or records set. It’s about the sights you see, the thoughts you think, the conversations you share, the absurdities you observe. Anxiety released, depression mitigated, daylight savored. Roads taken, roads not. The drumbeats of hours spent, doing your thing, jogging along.
Sarah Hauge is a writer, editor, and grantwriter who lives in Spokane with her husband and two children. She hopes to sneak in some warmer winter running during a trip to LA with her daughter this February.
