In my last few posts I forgot to mention that I fractured some ribs while running at Bear Creek in Pennsylvania. I was cruising a downhill, tripped over a branch and ended up falling onto my left fist, which happened to be strategically placed right over my heart. Having fractured my ribs a number of times (skiing, getting the crap kicked out of me, working), I knew I'd busted them up. I did my 18 mile run last week with a tiny bit of discomfort, but it wasn't until I started shoveling snow and pushing a snow blower who's wheels had stopped spinning that they started to feel not so fresh. They bothered me on todays run so I'm guessing they're probably healing improperly. Oops.
About todays run...it was nothing transformative, no great revelations, no problems solved, but it was my first true snow run. Last night we got 4-6 inches of light powder, the kind of powder that makes skiers weep. I'd planned on doing 10 miles before the snow hit but was satisfied with a lung busting, leg working 6.5 miles. It was a shitload of fun. I bombed the downhills faster than I ever have before and suffered mightily on every climb. Oh, and it was so fucking cold that my hydration pack froze in the first half mile. Oh boy. Over the last 3 or 4 months I've developed this bad habit of kicking myself in my left ankle when the trail gets a little bit technical. It's resulted in a little tear in my skin that refuses to heal. When it happens, if you listen closely enough, you can hear me scream obscenities at the top of my lungs three or four States away.
Here are some pictures from this morning: