90 minutes out on unplowed roads scrambling to run during the waning phases of this 'brutal' Nor'easter; running into the wind; swiping at snow flies; looking for Krakauer's tent and thirsty for gourmet survival coffee.
90 minutes out on unplowed roads was enough for me. No Durden at all. It was a huge disappointment indeed. Partially to blame was the fact that I had no route. In fact, no route exists here. It's all residential islands between turbulent seas of highway. You make run decisions based on the probability that the McChute won't deposit you into a bustling intersection of people driving like mad to fetch donuts and coffee.
Except that there were virtually zero people driving like mad. Or driving at all. Or walking or anything. Richmonders are afraid of the snow. And at 8am yesterday, there was a lot of it and it was coming down hard. The friendly neighborhood street signs were glazed with it, resulting in my getting lost after seven miles. I'd decided that was probably enough for the day, considering the conditions, even though I'd really wanted to do at least eleven. The weather became my conscience and conspired in confusing me, gently influencing my usually effective sense of direction, corrupting it and sending me onto to lovely suburban lanes that I've never heard of and will probably never see again. In desperation, I finally found an outlet to one of the main roads that did in fact have traffic on it, with only a miserable cold puddle of a shoulder for me to lunge into as the Virginia drivers pretended that they could not see me and my fire engine red fleece.
I made it back to my mother's soaked and coated in blizzard detritus, but I did get in those damn eleven miles.
Now...out to tackle the non-snowy, but probably icy, roads for at least four or five miles. New York is apparently buried in the white stuff, so who knows how difficult it will be to get the miles in there this week.