Heaven ain't close in a place like this

You know how I'm usually freak giddy and annoyingly sunny when I return from a good long run? Remember how last week I rambled on about it was "just me and the birds and bunnies" or some such nonsense? Well, today when I rang up the birds and bunnies to see if they were gonna join me, they took one look out and said, "Fuck that and fuck you." Even in their bird and bunny voices, it was harsh, but they were right. It was not fit for man or beast out there. As I type this I've just returned from the stubborn six miler. A glance up at the thermometer reveals it's 14F (that's -10C for the rest of the world). With the wind chill, they say it feels like -1F (-18C). I won't quibble. What's that? Yeah, I know it's not even remotely healthful to run in conditions like that, but that's what makes it a pathology, silly. I do feel a certain pride of accomplishment, but I don't have too much pride to admit that there was one section, about a half mile right into the wind with no cover, when I cried. Tears streamed down my face, no question, but because of the iPod/wind/toque I can't be sure if there were audible boohoos. There were no witnesses.