“You’re not actually going out there are you? It’s slippery! Do be careful!”
I assure the couple sitting in the lobby that I indeed will be careful and will come back if its not safe. But it’s blustery and snowing on this early Sunday morning, how could I not go for a run?
I step out into more snow than I expected – 4-5 inches of puffy light snow that comes up over my shoes. A shock of cold at my ankles. But I am dressed warmly and well. I take a few strides forward. Not too slippery.
Yesterday I ran from my friend Marcia’s condo down to Lake Michigan and would have told you that the wild was nowhere to be found along the streets of grey brown brick and concrete. The wild, or Chicago’s closest thing to it, was down at the lakeshore where I was headed. There in the wild of bright ice at the rocky shoreline, pelting of wind, crunchy brown grass and gnarly bare limbed trees.
Today I see the wild everywhere. I’m immersed in it as snow swirls down my neck and fogs my glasses. The wild is here and with it this morning all this brisk snow-covered joy. I delight in the surprise of a plowed sidewalk but soon head back to the puffy snow-covered sidewalks which are so much more fun.
I turn back and into a furious wind. Tuck my head, press into the wet and cold and the wonder of joy in it all.
There’s a little early morning crowd of six in the lobby who exclaim how surprising it is to see someone out for a run on a day like this. I tell them how enlivening it was – and not too slippery – hoping I might entice them to step out into the wonder of this wild morning.