It was a bit regrettably cruel, I suppose. My friend, who is originally from southern California, and I met at six this morning, when the whippin' wind chill was below 0, and the temp was in the single digits. We were too layered to run gracefully, looking like those Antartica scientists who are not to be understood by anyone. Plus, we had to hurdle or skid over ice patches in the road, barely preserving our aging hips from a fall in the dark, dark, bitterness of this morning, which mocked global warming, and reprimanded us for being out of our beds, away from snuggly husbands, who still had their lazy forms prostrate.
As the wind snapped against our cheeks, I told her that I couldn't run next week as we will be on the sunny beach in Mexico for our fifteenth anniversary. She was not happy for me. Running partners are the most honest people anywhere. The elements just require it.