Weather and Marriage

 This morning I jauntily set off on my run. The weather app showed cloudy skies and nothing to worry about until high winds around 1 p.m. The temperature was 7 C, that's about 44 Fahrenheit. As I ran my 5K, I stopped and shot a picture of a rainbow. What luck!

When I turned back toward home, the rainbow wasn't visible and the wind began to pick up. Soon the rain joined it. A light misting at first, then it began to pour in earnest. I usually finish my runs with a walk to stretch, but the dire weather convinced me to keep running until the end as hail began to pelt the bill of my Nike cap. 

I made it inside the kitchen, soaked and shivering. 

"Well that was unexpected," I called to Earl as I walked in the house. 

He came to the kitchen and held up my bath towel. "Need this?"

I pulled off my hat and my jacket, handing them to him. I untied my soaked shoes and peeled off my socks so I wouldn't leave wet footprints on the tile floor. 

"Is that it?" Earl asked, gesturing to my shirt and my pants.

"Yeah, I'll hang my pants on the radiator upstairs," I told him. 

He turned to strategically place my wet clothes on the radiator in the kitchen. 

"No show today, folks!" he said to himself.

"You've seen this show plenty of times," I reminded him. 

"Yeah, but it never gets old. That's why I bought season tickets."

Guess I'm pretty lucky after 32 years of marriage. 

Power

 This morning, as I rounded the top of a path and stood on the Col du Portel, a winding road that leads through a mountain pass, a rush of wind swept down tugging my hat brim so that the hat leapt backward, hanging on by my ponytail, and the rain began to fall in earnest. And I may have risen my arms in the air, twisting my hands like an Indian God or Goddess in praise and celebration of the power I felt standing there on top of a mountain along the road. 

Sheep, including a caramel-colored lamp hiding on the other side of its mother

It's been months since I've had successful runs. I fell at the end of July, and although I worked back to walking and hiking, my knee continued to hurt when I attempted runs. Then another injury in November set me back, and I determined to have an MRI to see if I'd done real damage to my knee. 

Meanwhile, though I was left to take walks and to endure lockdown, longing for the day that I could finish my exercise in 45 minutes, eating up the road with my quick stride. Sure, I may not be a fast runner, but running is always faster than walking.

After an MRI and an appointment with a knee specialist, he assured me that I could run again after physical therapy to "retrain" my muscles. I registered with the local physical therapist, who is apparently so booked up that I remain on his waiting list. 

If the doctor says I just need some muscle retraining, that assured me that I wasn't going to injure anything further if I started running. 

It's been slow though. Running and walking. Watching out for the pain in my knee. Noticing that my knee is better but my lungs are a long way from running again. 

Saturday, I managed a 3.5 mile run without walking or gasping for air. 

These look like tiny wild roses in bloom, but, if my detective work is correct, may be flowering quince

I wanted to go for a walk or run this morning, but the weather forecast was foreboding -- high winds, rain. It wasn't raining a bit before 8 and I asked Earl where I could go that I wouldn't be in danger of flying tree limbs. 

He recommended the road to Ginoles, not too many trees along that road. True, but it was uphill the whole way. 

I decided to give it a try. I started running outside my house and was able to continue running until about 1.2 miles, or two kilometers. Considering that it was all uphill, I felt quite proud. I walked on the steep parts and then ran in  between. I took a straight path, leaving the road behind to have a chance to run before I walked, out of breath, up the steep path to Ginoles. 

An almond tree in bloom and an unsettled sky

As I continued up past Ginoles, I saw a car snake around the "Col" the mountain pass above. Why not? I set out toward the ridge looming above me. Again, there were a few running parts, but more sharp uphill parts. 

Olive trees

I continued on, listening to music and singing along at the top of my voice, as much as my labored breathing would allow before I reached the winding road. 

The view of faraway Quillan

The only option was to go downhill, sticking close to the side of the road facing traffic and the few cars that passed. 

I saw one car that revved its engine and wanted to pass the car in front of it, trying to twist around the curves like a commercial, and I let out a laugh. "Your car might go fast, but you aren't out conquering it by foot!" I thought. 

So I wound back into town and kept running past our house until my app indicated that I'd passed five miles. 

The feeling of accomplishment and power has lasted all day, feeling the ferocity of the rain and wind and lifting my arms in victory over them -- this time. 

Dreaming of France -- Perfect Beach Day

Thank you for joining this weekly meme. Grab a copy of the photo above and link back to An Accidental Blog. Share with the rest of us your passion for France. Did you read a good book set in France? See a movie? Take a photo in France? Have an adventure? Eat a fabulous meal or even just a pastry? Or if you're in France now, go ahead and lord it over the rest of us. We can take it.

Today in Ohio, the weather is nearly perfect. Sunny, 77 degrees (that's 25 Celcius) with a lovely breeze. It would be a perfect day to spend on the beach.
It reminded me of another lovely day on the beach in 2006, when we visited Bandol along the Mediterranean.

First let me set the scene. You can see the beautiful villas and hotels across the bay.

Our kids were still young enough to enjoy digging in the sand and running along the beach. 

Look at that intensity.

 But mostly, look at the joy of running and kicking up their heels.
I hope you find joy this weekend, whether it is on a beach in France, or wherever you are.
And my thoughts are with the people in France and in Houston who have suffered rising flood waters.

 Thanks so much for playing along with Dreaming of France. I really appreciate your participation and I hope you'll leave a comment plus visit each other's blogs.

I'm also joining a link for All About France. All of you France lovers have another place to visit now with this once a month meme.

Running Obsession

I know that runners are messed up. They obsess about getting out there no matter the weather.
In spite of logically understanding this, I find myself, like a Donald Trump groupie, unable to resist.
The other morning, my friend Sheila texted to ask if I wanted to walk if the weather permitted.

Here I am from a 66 degree run in December --
soaked through and through. 

I told her I was still in bed but I needed to run first.
"Stay in bed!" she texted. "It's raining out now."
Avoiding a walk in the rain makes sense, but once the thermometer creeps into the 50s, my runner's rule says I have to get out there. It's warm enough to run in the rain.
So I did on Thursday and again this morning, as I woke up to the sound of raindrops against the windows.
I dressed in a short-sleeved shirt and running leggings that stop at my knee. I slid on a long-sleeved jacket since the temperature read 52 degrees. I encased my phone  in a plastic bag and wrapped my Fitbit in plastic too so I could get credit for my steps.
This morning, the clock said 7:30, but the sky said 6:30 since we moved the clocks forward last night.

My friend Naj and I ran in the snow this winter too.
We're die hard runners. 

I ran through the wet, dark streets. I didn't feel the rain but I could see it falling when I looked at the lights. I quickly got too warm and pulled my jacket off. As I passed mile three, my hands felt icy and wet. I tried to shake off the rain that soaked my arms, my pony tail. I felt the squoosh of water in my soaked socks and shoes.
And finally, I thought, this is crazy. I ran home at just under four miles, feeling guilty about my run cut short -- but satisfied that my Fitbit had a jump on my 10,000 steps for the day.
We runners are nuts, but I don't think I'd give it up.

Running and Weather

I woke up this morning at 5:30 when the cat settled onto my shoulder, his black, fuzzy face just inches from mine.
I reached for my phone and pressed the weather app. 27 degrees (-3Celcius)! That's practically a heat wave considering that I ran on Tuesday morning and it was 7 degrees (-14Celcius).
The app warned that snow or freezing rain were forecast for 7 a.m.
By the time I got out of bed, dressed and was dancing in the kitchen to Pitbull's "Time of Our Lives" before I headed out the door, it was 6:30.
As I headed down the walk, I felt a few thick drops hit my face and my lashes. Snow or rain was starting, but the roads were clear, so I joyfully ran about a mile and a half before the snowy mix increased. Soon, my hair was dripping and my fleece jacket hung heavy on my shoulders, but still, I was sweating from the run.
I stopped inside a bus shelter and pulled my fleece off, tying it around my waist.
I headed back toward home, feeling the icy material sticking to my thighs.
The black asphalt was shiny in places and I wondered whether I might slip. But each step felt fairly secure.
Then about half a mile from home, I felt a foot slide before the other one found a secure anchor. I stopped running and slid my feet along the street. Yep, solid ice.
I headed for the sidewalk, figuring I'd walk the rest of the way home. But the sidewalks were even more slippery, and as soon as I started walking, I felt the wetness of my clothes on my skin, the temperature still hovering around 27. Without the body heat from running, I felt sure I would soon succumb to hypothermia.
This was one of the first times that I felt like I had truly put myself in danger: soaking wet, 27-degree temperatures with icy roads.
There was nothing to it but to continue running in the hopes of keeping my body temperature up and getting home sooner.
So I headed back to the road. I changed my running stride. Rather than a lope, I was nearly running in place, bouncing up on each step then landing just inches in front of where I'd left. I was afraid to stretch out, picturing me ending up in a split if my front foot slid.
As cars passed close by, I tried to remind myself that if I fell I should roll toward my shoulder, rather than landing on my nose, like I did in September 2013. I figured, if I hit my head, I could just try to roll to the side of the road then the school kids would be on their way soon and they'd find me before I froze to death. (Yes, strange thoughts go through my head when I'm running alone in the dark freezing rain.)
Finally, I made it home. As I had run, I had come up with a plan. I knew that I couldn't hop into a hot shower with my skin so cold. I've experienced that burning and itching before. But I couldn't stay in my wet clothes. Luckily, I don't work until the evening today, so when I got home, I stripped off all my clothes, hung them on the clothes hamper and climbed into bed under the covers.
I stayed there for at least half an hour, until the skin on my stomach and thighs didn't feel cold to the touch any more.
By the time I finished a hot shower and got dressed, I was nearly human again. Earl texted me from his walk to the bus, "It's dangerous."
I tried to tell him.
I love running, but I know I need to be more aware of my surroundings and the weather before I take off in the mornings to enjoy an unfettered run.

Groundhog Day

Sunday was Groundhog Day here in the United States. I guess it is no coincidence that it falls half way between Winter Solstice and Spring Equinox. I didn't even realize that until some of my British blogging friends in France pointed out that it was Candlemas, the halfway mark. Then I realized why Feb. 2 was Groundhog Day.
Of course, Groundhog Day was made famous by the Bill Murray movie Groundhog Day.
The folklore about Groundhog Day is that the groundhog climbs from the hole where he hibernates to check out the weather. If he sees his shadow, he gets scared and goes back into his burrow for six more weeks of winter. If he doesn't see his shadow, then he doesn't retreat and that is a sign of an early spring.

This is a very fat groundhog.

What bugs me, is that the people in Pennsylvania have named their groundhog, Punxsutawney Phil, as the official weather predictor. He saw his shadow because, apparently, Pennsylvania had a sunny day on Feb. 2. So Pennsylvania is going to get six more weeks of winter.
But I say that Pennsylvania is a different area of the country and Punxsutawney Phil does not speak for the rest of us!
Yes, Pennsylvania is just east of us, but, here in Ohio, we had rain all day. No groundhogs saw their shadows in Columbus. I am counting on an early spring.
I am begging for an early spring.
As I type this, I'm watching the weather forecast for ice accumulation starting tomorrow followed by several inches of snow by Wednesday morning.
Come on groundhog!

Saturday Snapshot -- Weather Changes

To participate in the Saturday Snapshot meme, post a photo that you (or a friend of family member) have taken. Then leave a direct link to your post on West Metro Mommy. Photos can be old or new, and be of any subject as long as they are clean and appropriate for all eyes to see. How much detail you give in the caption is entirely up to you. Please don't post random photos that you find online.
We're still in single digits here in Ohio this morning, but I'm not complaining because it's supposed to be even colder on Monday and Tuesday.

More snow and freezing rain tomorrow too. I'm sure my high school-aged son is already dreaming of another day off school, even though it would be his first day back from Christmas break. 

As for me, I'm changing my weather this afternoon. Check back for a picture to see what my weather looks like after 2 or so.
...

My son and I flew to Florida. In two short hours my weather went from that winter wonderland to overcast and in the 60s. People in Florida keep complaining about how cold it is. I'll take it.
Hope you're having a good, warm weekend.

Winter Warmth

Two years ago, we had a very mild winter. The tulips were blooming in February. We had hardly any freezing weather.
The sleeves on my wool winter coat were worn thin, but I figured if the following winter was equally mild then I wouldn't need a new coat. I loved that winter coat, a chocolate brown Calvin Klein with a shawl collar. I would pull the tie closed around my waist and the wool reached down mid-thigh. A friend knitted a bright pink scarf that I could wrap around my neck. It was the perfect bright accessory to the dark coat.
I determined to avoid buying a new coat last year. With global warming, and if we had a winter like the one the year before, I figured I could simply layer sweaters.
But last year was much colder. I ended up wearing my coat with the sleeves worn thin, much too often.
This fall, I hoped for a warm winter again, but winter tore into Ohio in November and hasn't let up. On Tuesday, I finally got a new winter coat.
Just in time because today the temperatures dropped to zero, following yesterday's six inches of snow. If I ever needed a winter coat, this is the time.

Weather and Laundry and Last Times

This morning, I pushed open the windows. I'm so sick of stale, air conditioned air. Usually, we only run the air conditioner a couple of weeks each summer. This summer, with temperatures soaring over 90 everyday, we've run the air conditioner constantly.
The high temp today is supposed to be 81, so I'm hoping to get a little fresh air in the house. But the air as it comes in isn't fresh. It's heavy with moisture. The skies hang low and gray. Maybe it will thunderstorm.
When I walked outside this morning, the air felt neutral, not hot or cool -- sort of like body temperature.
But since Oscar Wilde says, "Conversation about the weather is the last refuge of the unimaginative," I'll move on from this subject to laundry. Do you think Wilde would have approved?
Only, it isn't really about laundry, it's about last times.
I heard the dehumidifier in the basement beep three times, which means it is full. I ignored it, but then it beeped again, and the boys are sleeping, so I went down to empty it. As I poured the water into the sink in the laundry room, I saw that Spencer had moved his clothes hamper full of dirty clothes into the laundry room.
So I started the water in the washer and began to sort. I remember at the store the other day Spencer said, "Someone needs to show me how to do laundry."
Now, I've shown him several times and he conveniently forgets, but I'll show him one more time before he leaves for college -- on Wednesday.
As I'm putting his tshirts and shorts into the washing machine, I picture taking them out of the dryer, folding them and placing them in the plastic bin we are using to cart his things to school. How many pairs of shorts? How many pairs of matched socks will emerge? What about boxer shorts and the endless tshirts?

This may be the last time I do Spencer's laundry before he leaves for college. That means less laundry, but it also means my boy will be far away on his own -- to sink or swim on the west coast of Florida.

All Bluster, No Bite

I don't know about other parts of the country or the world,but here in Ohio, the weather forecasters are always predicting doom and gloom. If there's a snow storm in the west, they'll predict 10 inches of snow for us. If there's a heat wave in the south, we're sure to get it. The thing is, usually, they're wrong.
For nearly a week now, we were told yesterday would be a day of high winds. We know high winds here because more than a year ago, a faltering hurricane hit the Gulf of Mexico and swept all the way north, knocking out our power for a week. The weather forecasters didn't even mention this wind storm, by the way. We let our kids ride around town on their bikes and sent Grace driving to downtown Columbus where she watched branches blow across the road. I went to Panera to "work" and write blog posts while we had no power. I can't get the link to work, but you can check the archives for Sept. 2008 if you want to see how we coped for a week without electricity, grilling the chicken that was thawing in our freezer for dinner and using candles for light at night so we could read and play family board games.
This week,we were kind of excited for the predicted wind storm. We watched this big mass of clouds move across weather maps, dumping a foot of snow on all those flat states to the west. When we walked outside just before 7 on Wednesday morning, Grace commented that it felt like Florida. She was right. It was about 50 degrees. During the day, the sun shone and gorgeous puffy clouds skittered across the sky. Sometimes they looked like mountain ranges piled up to the east. Occasionally, the wind would gust. Someone's grill cover blew into the tree by our house. For the most part, the day was a dud. At least, we thought, we had the several inches of snow they were predicting overnight. I get up this morning. Nothing.
The temperature has dropped. It's a frigid 19 degrees, but that's about all the weather forecasters got right. The kids went to bed hoping the school would lose power or the teachers might not be able to get to school for all the snow. No luck. They'll have to slog off, another day in the coal mine.