First day of holidays and I was feeling guilty. I bundled up and went out for a run.
And did I mention that it was COLD?!
Imagine this: four layers, long underwear, a shirt, a jacket, and a shell. My head is wrapped in a toque, a fleece hood. I’m wearing two pairs of gloves. The only part of me with less than two layers is my face, and five minutes into the run I can feel the second layer — a frosty, white layer of ice — forming to account for the lack thereof.
As I’m leaving Karin says to me: if you’re not back in thirty minutes I’m sending a search party. I walked through the doors when my watch read thirty minutes and twenty-five seconds. She was putting on her coat.
The temperature is (apparently) twenty-five below, Celsius. I don’t think that’s accounting for the wind chill. Wind chill was the cherry on the sundae: those biting spikes of frozen air stabbing into your cheeks, those painful glacial hands massaging your eyeballs.
Did I mention that it was cold? Huh?