"Hard core!" the fellow in his front yard says as I jog past. "No, just foolish!" I reply. It's a late morning blizzard blitz around McLean neighborhood streets and bikepaths after a few Saturday hours at the office. Snow falls fast, the temperature is in the upper teens, and it feels like I'm running on a beach. Sensible comrade Kerry declines my invitation and stays snug in her PJs, but kindly offers to let me into her home to recover when I'm done. But fortunately I head directly back to my town, making it just in time as roads turn to ice and cars slip-slide on hills and curves. Runkeeper records route.
^z - 2015-03-12