Shaken Snowglobe

 For newcomers here, hi! It's 100 runs in 100 days season, so I basically run twice a day each Saturday and Sunday.

Also: I'm sorry you've reached a point in your life where you feel my blog is the best thing you have to read right now. I hope things improve very soon, and in the meantime I'll try to include pretty pictures!

Saturday - apart from the blistering cold in the morning as I ran down to the farmers' market - was relatively uneventful.

Though did include this spectacularly frozen waterfall in the morning, and the stunning sunset above in the evening

The trails, though, were covered in ice - it was difficult for my screw shoes to get traction in the morning due to the deep cold (it was something like -14c), and while it warmed significantly through the day (to about -1c by evening), spikes were definitely required. To make matters worse, freezing rain began to fall that night, and with temperatures expected to climb above 0c on Sunday I anticipated slush. The wind was also howling terribly throughout the day, which led to me procrastinating about running - even the first run - until late in the afternoon, when I finally got myself kitted up and headed down the hill to a little tract nearby.

In spikes again, because the cold wind meant everything was still treacherously icy

The clouds had broken apart as I dressed, and I arrived just as the sun dropped behind the trees.

It looked like it would be a beautiful evening

The wind still whipped powerfully through the forest, with gusts producing alarming creaks and cracks over the cronch-cronch-cronch of my spikes biting into the ice below my feet. 

Please forgive my shoddy camera work!

I finished up in the last of the daylight - a few cedar-lined metres of trail had to be run on faith alone, as I couldn't really see - with a bright moon riding high above.

Just a few little puffs of cloud to catch the warm sunset hues

The way out - a shining ribbon of ice leading into the darkness of the woods

My plan was simple: drive the handful of minutes home, have a snack while I waited the requisite hour between the finish of one run and start of the next, then run point-to-point so I could escape the worst effects of the still-powerful wind from the west. I'm incredibly fortunate to have my amazing husband Tanker on board with these ridiculous ideas: he'd drive to the other end of the trail, go for a bit of a hike of his own, then wait for me to appear to drive me home. My end of the bargain is just to plod along from one place to another.

Things looked marginally more complicated as we reached the top of the hill on which we live, mere moments after that clear moonlit sky - we suddenly found ourselves in a blizzard!

Safely home...but what did this mean for the second run?

It was a bit more than an hour before I set out once more - in a warmer, dry shirt under a dry jacket, and with a headlamp on my toque-layered head. The temperature had fallen again, but the snow had stopped; the skies, however, were thick with low clouds that reflected the light from the suburbia surrounding the trail.

The headlamp was just along for the ride

I ran (and walked, on weary legs made heavier by the spikes still slipped over my shoes) upriver and downwind.

Towering freeway lights in the distance like false moons below the clouds

As I reached the one section of trail that would take me briefly into the teeth of the wind, the snow began to fall once more.

I guess I shouldn't have worn my "Let it Snow" toque!

Crossing the bridge over the river, it picked up from flurry to squall, and the headlights of an oncoming car danced with thick flakes illuminated in their beams.

..and falling in silent legions into the river below

As I trotted and trudged through the final section of trail, the swirling mass of snow about me had reached whiteout proportions. I tried turning my headlamp on for a moment while paused, and immediately turned it back off again.

At least I could mostly see without it - with it on, I was nearly blind

Despite running downwind, the sheer volume of snow in the air meant it started to cling and drift on me - on the brim of the hat I wore beneath my toque, on my shoulders, on the fuzzy nose wipe material on the thumbs of my mittens. 

I'd be lucky if Tank recognized me to give me a ride, rather than trying to cut off my arm with a lightsaber

The squall was relentless, and I was forced to move even slower as the blanket of white hid the roots and depressions in the trail, making even spiked footing a bit treacherous.

The trail is mostly groomed, but there are still a few things that could send me sprawling

In the end, it took me forty two minutes to "run" just over five and a half kilometers - nearly fifty, if I include time spent stopped, either catching my breath or marveling at the storm. I came upon Tanker at the eastern trailhead, vigorously engaged in brushing snow off the car: nearly 3cm (more than an inch) had fallen in the thirty-ish minutes since it began. 

There was only one thing left to do..

Let's test the snow depth a little..

As I tried to stand, I found my fleece skirt and even my braid had frozen to the ground! It was a bit of an effort to get up, but I was able to regain my feet and survey my work by the headlights of the car.

Remember how there had only been the merest skiff of snow during my first run, just 2hrs before?

Then it was time to try to brush myself off before I carried an entire drift into the car with me.

I've never been so grateful to have a thermos of hot chocolate waiting for me!

I'm grateful that I was able to safely get through such a wild experience - it was truly awesome to be in the thick of such a storm, to have it swirl around me while everyone with any sense was holed up indoors. I wouldn't advocate for doing it on purpose as I'd hate for anyone to have a bad outcome, but it was something I'll definitely remember for some time!

The real kicker? Within five minutes of leaving the trailhead, there was no longer a flake in the sky. The snowglobe had settled once more.