Running in the Snow

As I rolled out of bed this morning, I expected the bitter cold, but the weather app promised me snow that wouldn't begin until around 8 or 9 a.m.
I drove my husband to work around 6:30 because I thought it was too cold for him to stand and wait for the bus. It's 19 degrees (-7 C) now and feels like 14 (-10 C). As I pulled back into the garage, dressed in my running clothes, I noticed some snowflakes drifting from the sky.
Usually, I love to run in the snow, especially snow with big fat flakes that cover my jacket, changing it from black to white.
But this morning I was dismayed.
I just had my hair cut and the stylist straightens it for me. I can keep it straight for about a week if I don't do one thing -- get it wet.
Once it's wet, it reverts to a tangle of curls. (Yes, I know everyone wishes they had curly hair but that's because they don't actually have them. Plus, I get many more compliments on my straight hair, which some say makes me look younger, than I do on my curly hair.)
After I saw the snow, I planned to put on a hood that would cover my hair and my neck, but sometime since I last used it (winter 2016) it has gone missing, so I braved the cold without it.
This snow was not big puffy flakes, but instead prickly ice pieces that stung my cheeks and chin. I really wished I had that hood.
As I ran the first half mile, I began negotiating with myself. Maybe I didn't have to go six miles. Maybe I could run three miles. I'd get through the first mile and decide.
By the time I finished the first mile, I'd warmed up some, so continued my regular route. Into mile two, I noticed that my thighs were so cold that they burned. I suppose that might be a sign of frostbite, but I have figured out after years of running, that fat gets really cold. It's no secret that I carry most of my fat in my thighs and hips. They'll stay cold for an hour after the rest of my body has warmed up.
I haven't figured out why fat holds the cold longer, but I assume that it's protecting the rest of my body and my internal organs, like walruses with blubber.
As the burning continued, I debated who I could call to come pick me up. My friend Sheila is always available to help, but her husband just had surgery. She's already taking care of someone. My son Spencer would be asleep and not respond to the phone. My daughter might drive to pick me up, but she's preparing to drive to New Jersey after work today because her boyfriend's grandmother died.
After I had gone through the possibilities, even seeing a man walk out of his front door and contemplating whether he would let me go in to warm up, the burning feeling had faded, so I continued to run.
I did cut it short, ending at five miles and at a Starbucks before I walked home. The snow skittered along the roads and sidewalks in long lines, not yet enough to cover the pavement.
And when I returned home, that coldness in my thighs returned, as if they were big blocks of ice.
At least I've learned enough not to hop right in the shower where I'll scream from the pain of the hot water on my cold skin.
And as for my hair, I've kept it in a tight ponytail braid and won't know until I take it out if the icy snow returned my curls.
I'm hoping for a few more days of straight hair.
How's your weather? Hope you have sunshine and warmth.

Excuses

I've used a lot of excuses over the year to avoid a run. 

It's too hot; it's too cold. 

Too rainy, too humid, too dark, too late in the morning.

My feet hurt, my knees hurt.

My kids' friends might see me on their way to school.

But this is the first time that I've used my hair as an excuse.

I got my hair cut yesterday and the stylist straightened if for me. My hair is so long straight and it looks fabulous. I couldn't risk running, getting sweaty and making my hair curl again. So, no running for me today.

My hair looks too good.

The Trouble With Curly Hair

You hear it all the time, people who wish they had curly hair tell me how lucky I am to have curls.
But if they actually had to live with curly hair, I don't think they'd be so anxious.
The problem with curly hair is that it always looks a little bit celebratory. Think about it. If women are going out for a fancy evening or a special dinner or even dancing, they curl their hair. So how weird is it to wear curly hair when I'm going for a run, or working in the garden, or vacuuming, or arguing with a teenager.The hair looks totally inappropriate -- way too dressy.
I think the French got it right by calling it frisés. Most of the time, my curly hair is frizzy.
The thing is, anyone can have curly hair, all they have to do is get a perm. To have straight hair though is trickier. None of my hair dressers (is that still a word or does that make me sound 80 years old?) have recommended the Brazilian hair straightening process because it uses some sort of chemicals, like formaldehyde.
So if I want straight hair, I have to take the time each day to flat iron it. Not really a problem in the winter time. Even if I run in the morning, I don't sweat much and my hair doesn't react by frizzing or curling, but welcome to the summer and my hair grows and grows.
The first few days after I stop flat ironing, my hair is in a kind of stupor. It curls but doesn't go overboard. By the second or third day, the curls are feeling rebellious. They start to corkscrew, especially on the right side.
My hair, when curly reaches my shoulders. Straightened, it reaches well down my back. As the humidity increases, my hair will look shorter and shorter as it takes on a global quality -- and by that, I mean it looks like a globe, a big round ball.
I tell my hair cutter (could that be the right word? At least I'm not calling her a beautician) that I need the length in the summer to help weigh down the curls.
There was one time I really embraced my curls. About 10 years ago, my hair was long enough that it almost fell into dreadlocks -- long individual curls.
I'd use a clip to pull a few curls back. My hair felt beautiful. When I ran, I'd braid it, and the braid was long enough to pull in front of my shoulder to finish. The braid swished back and forth against my back during my runs, and I had to buy pony tail holders without metal on them because they'd leave abrasions against my back where the end of the braid rubbed. I probably could have put on more clothes instead.
So here we are in May, and my curls are in full swing again. It's time to embrace my wild hair. After all, I can always fall back on the  pony tail.
Have you ever wished you had curly hair? If you have curly hair, what are your secrets to keep it tame?

Hair Issues

Some of you know that I've given up straightening my hair. It just became too time consuming and it felt as useless as trying to rebuild beaches along the Florida coast that keep getting washed away by the storms and the waves.
So I went back to keeping it curly, but I continued to straighten my bangs. I just couldn't let the bangs go curly again. Maybe it looks weird with straight bangs and the rest of my hair curling crazily. But I didn't realize how weird until I was flipping channels one night and saw the mother from 19 Kids & Counting.
I stopped, shocked. Her hair looked like mine, and I did not like the way it looked one bit.

Her hair looks kind of pentecostal freaky. And I can say that since I was raised in a pentecostal church.
So now what?
Do I return to straightening my hair, which is my preference, or do I just make sure I never flip past the mom in 19 Kids & Counting again.
Nevermind, I can't possibly get that image out of my mind.
I'm going to have to start getting up at 4:30 a.m. to straighten my hair again.

Ghost Touch

Everyone recognizes sights or sounds that are familiar, that transport them back to another place and time. I didn't realize that the same could be true of touch -- until today.
Today I dressed in a knit pullover shirt that belonged to Grace. She put it in a pile of clothes to give away and that pile remained stacked in the hallway until one of the cats knocked it over. Then I spied the medium blue shirt and picked it up. Too short for Grace, who is half a foot taller than I am. I kept it for myself.
I slipped the shirt on this morning. It has four tiny buttons along the top and sleeves that stop just below the shoulders with knit ties.
All day today, I've felt the those ties brush on my upper arms and I've tossed my head to push back the ropy weight of my hair against my upper arms. But the feeling isn't my hair. It's the ties of the shirt.
My hair now falls in curls again, but they stop just below my shoulders. They don't stretch down to the middle of my arms like they once did, sometime maybe 8 years ago. My hair grew long, and I followed the Curly Girl advice and didn't wash it or comb out the curls. The curls fell like dreadlocks, but not locked in tight. When I ran, I'd reach behind my neck and secure the hair in a long braid. I still have a mark on my back, just above my running bra, where the pony tail holder rubbed a scar as it swung back and forth during my long runs.
Even as I conciously knew that the weight along my arms was the shirt rather than my hair, each time that I felt it, it took me back.

Youth and Beauty

Do you have a time when you thought you were at the height of your looks? You know, a time when you look at pictures and realize, "I looked good then. I don't look like that anymore."
I've been having a lot of conversations with people lately about the fact that I would not want to go back to my teen years, too much drama. I wouldn't want to go back to my twenties because I was too black and white like the woman I wrote about in the previous post. Most of my thirties were a blur because I had little children who sapped my memory cells. Right around 39 or 40 though, I think I hit the peak of my looks.
Of course, I'm making assumptions that things are not going to get better from here.
First of all, I loved my hair then. It was long and curly. One of my journalist friends described it as romance heroine hair. I think I had finally just given up on doing anything to it and now that I look back, I love the way it looked.
I've been straightening it for a couple of years now, so it gets cut shorter and shorter because straightening it dries out the ends. The hair dresser cuts off the dead ends and now my hair is barely to my shoulders when straightened. Try to picture how short that is when I let it curl.

Look at this man in the market. He is delighted with me. Okay, maybe he is delighted that I am buying some of his product, but I think that I had no idea how charming I was at the time. Can I go back there now and take advantage of the attention?
A careful reader of this blog might notice that all of these photos were taken in France. Maybe I am just connecting a wonderful memory with the photos and think that I look better then.
I was also in pretty great shape. I think this was the year after I ran the marathon. Earl and I biked around Provence.
I didn't mind bicycling around France in a pair of padded shorts and I had a wrap around skirt that I pulled over the shorts when we stopped for lunch.
Maybe the looks are not better or worse than they are now or than they were before. Maybe it all has to do with how I was feeling at the time. If so, this picture pretty much says it all:

How about you? Would you go back to a previous age? Would you go back to the way you looked a previous age?

Curly Girls Unite

On our run this morning, talk turned to hair, which is strange because currently, DreamGirl has no hair. She ran without a cap, her bald head still nubbly in spots as the chemotherapy continues to work its magic.
I thought I was being petty as I twisted my hair into a braid to control the frizz created by the humidity. I reminded myself even as I tucked the braid in a cap that DreamGirl will be starting from scratch when her hair starts to grow out, so I should quit complaining. I thought I might feel uncomfortable talking about hair problems with a bald woman, but I didn't.
I asked her how she could resist telling bald men that she likes their hairstyle. She just smiled.
Then she told me that her daughter is having hair issues. When she brushes it, it grows huge.
"Tell her not to brush it," I urged.
"She doesn't have curly hair," DreamGirl said.
"Trust me. If her hair is getting big and frizzy, she has curly hair if you just allow the curls to emerge."

This is still a novel idea to many people, but if you have curly hair, brushing is not the way to go. I should know.
For years I brushed my hair and dealt with weird bumps that I tried to smooth down. When I read the book Curly Girl by Lorraine Massey, I became a convert.
I know what you're all thinking. Isn't this the same woman who loves to straighten her hair? Yes, that's me. But in this humidity, there's no sense pretending I have straight hair. I have to let it curl and control the frizz the best I can.
I start in the shower. I don't use shampoo. I haven't for years. Curly hair has open follicles and shampoo is bad for it. Curly hair also doesn't get greasy.
So I rub my scalp and add conditioner. I spread the conditioner from my scalp to the ends, removing all the tangles with my fingers. It's important to remove the tangles because I don't brush it, remember.
In humidity like this, I also leave some of the conditioner in. It isn't leave-in conditioner, but I only rinse the top of my head and leave conditioner on the ends.
When I get out of the shower, I don't wrap my head in a towel. Instead, I use a towel to scrunch it and get out the excess water. Then I add a hair product. I use Aveda Confixer. Then I let my hair dry. That's it.
I'll pull down my bangs and try to dry them, but they usually curl up again.
I got to thinking about curls after I went through old pictures for Grace's photo album. I saw some pictures of myself that I loved. My hair was really long, down to my elbows, and dark. The curls had taken over in long rolls that looked almost Rastafarian. This was at the height of my Curly Girl phase.
Before I read Curly Girl, my hair looked wavy instead of curly. That's because I used a pick to comb it every day after my shower. Not combing or brushing it makes a huge difference -- and can even lead to the Rastafarian look.
That's why I told DreamGirl that her daughter should stop brushing her hair. The more we curly girls brush our hair, the more we'll resemble Rosanne Rosannadanna from Saturday Night Live.
I even have a favorite curl. No matter how many times I straighten my hair, once I let it curl again, a curl on the right side down below my ear always emerges. It falls in a perfect long loop. Why can't all of my hair do that? Then I would truly have Romance heroine hair.
My hair is much shorter now, which is a problem for curls. The shorter the hair, the less weight, which means it has a tendency to frizz up. I like the weight of long hair to help control the frizz.
That's where straightening my hair has foiled my plans again. The more I straighten it, the more I damage it and have to cut the ends, thus resulting in shorter and shorter hair.