Wednesday Wissahickon Fail

Today I woke up and threw on winter running gear filled with good intentions -- run to the park, five hill repeats, run home, with a pack -- for me, a solid workout for the middle of the week.

The plan was to make the repeats way less boring by meeting Abby in the park. I shuffled around the house searching for my cell phone to make sure our playdate was still on. Twenty minutes later I was behind schedule and still hadn't found my phone. I headed out and stopped by my car -- there the cell sat, riding shotgun.

I decided to drive to the park, which was mistake number one. I soon hit traffic, something I don't usually see in the streets immediately surrounding mine. As I sat in the complete standstill I peeked at my phone. Texts from Abby -- the sweltering, cozy 17 degrees wasn't thrilling her so she was smart enough to move her hill workout to the gym.

I briefly contemplated joining her, but realized that by the time I worked my way out of traffic it would be next Tuesday before I'd make it to her gym (and, uh, the idea of hill repeates on a treadmill made me a little bit scared and sad). So on I went. Or on I didn't go -- going the mile from my house to the park took 20 minutes. I rarely, rarely drive to the park -- it's downhill, it's close, there's no need to, and today's misadventure solidified that I will never drive there again.

Finally, I pulled into the lot -- time to move. I reached to pull on my mittens. And, no gloves. I'd left them on the coffee table at home. Should I run without them and just deal with freezing hands? I decided that would be a dangerous idea and so I pulled back into traffic, wove my way home, grabbed the mittens and headed back to the park (a different, traffic-fee way this time).

Time to run. For real this time. The obvious route to the hill was covered in ice. Even with screws in my shoes it sucked. I eventually headed off trail onto softer snow and found myself bushwacking my way to the repeat hill. I was ready to be done by the time I got there but faked my way through a measly three repeats before taking the long way back to the car.

I rolled my ankles a dozen times on the rutted ice, lurching along, but managed to stay upright the whole way.  Success?

On my way back, I passed the spot of the cute little snowperson I saw last week. He sadly lost his head and most of his torso as well. And, where his neck used to be there was an empty pack of Newports. Not my finest outing in Wissahickon Park!

So sad.