Lately, because of the snow and sleet, along with their good friend, wind, I've been decked out in black leggings, black layers that include tank tops, those lulu shirts with the utility thumb holes, knit hats that cover and protect the ears and mittens - yes, black mittens that cram my fingers into the tightest possible space while still pretending to be a "medium" and fail miserably at elevating the temperature in my hands or promoting circulation. All of that is usually streamlined under a fitted black hoodie that covers everything from my hips to my forehead, leaving the smallest space for my eyes, cheeks and mouth. A few runs in this getup and I've taken to calling myself a ninja, a lot. Ask anyone who sees me pre, post or during a run - it's ninja this and ninja that.
So, today when I got the unsolicited "Ginger Ninja" in an immediate response to my winter running detail, I felt validated in the most obscene way. Gone are the days of the Bambi and Arnold Schwartzenegger references, a sleek ninja has replaced them!
Ridiculous that this thought is what fueled the fastest run I've had since my training started: 5 miles at 9:15min/mile with a steady warm up and cool down. It may have been the melting ice or the sun and the promise of a 40 degree day, but this run felt different. It wasn't so much of a struggle as it was a challenge and that familiar smile was back, albeit hidden under my ninja hood.
Although the locked gate at the iced over Ben Franklin Bridge walkway was a major letdown this morning, I would be remiss if I didn't thank the girl walking down 6th Street at 8AM in a long tank top, tights and heals for taking my mind off of my failed hills workout and refocusing it on what led to your walk of shame and why you didn't at least take a sweatshirt on your way out the door (or call a cab).
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