Jersey #9: Kentucky's Journey

Well, it seems that winter has certainly returned to the East coast in full force this week (or finally arrived, however you look at it), and oddly enough, I couldn't be happier. Having lived in Iowa for two years, I repeatedly griped over bone-chilling temperatures which seemed to stretch on for ages; but now I see it as sort of a character building experience. It let's one know that the human being is sturdier than might be expected, and that there are things to be enjoyed in the outdoors despite what may appear to be a less than inviting environment.

The tricky part, then, is getting started. From the comfort of my warm couch, the sound of the wind outside my window and the chill of the cold air seeping its way under the door and into my apartment are enough to deter me from venturing into the great outdoors. However, with the help of my obsession for training and a pleading look from Brutus I inevitably find myself bundling up for a trek into the deep freeze.

Despite the drawbacks, cold weather training sessions have never been a regrettable experience. There's just something really special about sprinting through the cold air and being surprising cognizant of the the nuances of the work my body usually performs without my knowing. It's the one time that breathing becomes tangible; the sting of the air inside the lungs and that extra push in and out make appreciable the work of those two invaluable organs. Not only that, but actually seeing the breath in front of me - the product of my effort in visual form. Moving down the line, my legs, whether covered or not, tend not to work as fluidly when faced with serious chill. On my return jog up the hill to the apartment, I had to continually remind them that, despite their protest, they could indeed continue to move me forward, one leg after the other, and at my desired pace. In addition, all this direction to the lungs and legs must be conducted above the screaming of half-numb fingers. It's a pain just tolerable enough that I remain assured that frostbite is not of concern, but just painful enough not to allow for a moment's respite. I suppose it's natures way of ensuring that all extremities remain intact, but it certainly can provide for a serious annoyance.

In spite of all the aches and pains of the cold weather experience, the beauty of it all inevitably shines through to make every second of discomfort worthwhile. In addition to puffs of crystallized breath rising into the air, the glitter of snow clings to every eyelash. The sounds are also worth the trip - or rather, the lack of them. Especially in a big city like Philadelphia, it seems that the parks and sidewalks are a rather crowded commodity in fair weather. Bikes, dogs, horses, runners, walkers, children, unicyclists - whatever - flock to the great outdoors whenever possible to escape the drudge of a what is one of the filthier cities I have encountered. However, cold weather seems to keep all but the most enthusiastic of those normal park-goers at bay, allowing for an unheard of amount of solitude. Only the sound of birds and the occasional footsteps of other hard-nosers like myself fill the air. When I do encounter one of them, a nod of the head is all that's needed to communicate an understanding. It's too cold to be outside and not be working hard, and far too cold not to open your mind for a moment and look around, appreciating what so many others are missing at that very same moment.

Indeed, I could certainly have chosen to perform the very same workout on a treadmill in the comfort of a heated fitness facility. However, I would have missed the intangibles. Sometimes, it's not the workout in itself that is so important, but the willingness to put in the work despite other obstacles. In rugby, more than perhaps other sports, we must learn to put in our best effort despite distractions. Sometimes the jolt from the last tackle or the pain from a busted finger must be overcome in order to get the job done. Likewise, occasionally sprinting outdoors on the days when the cold would encourage me otherwise is a great exercise in overcoming distractions and pain for the sake of a higher goal.


The moral of the story - winter is painful, but beautiful, too. I challenge all you cold-weather nay-sayers to bypass the drudgery of enduring these last few weeks of gloomy skies and bitter temperatures by facing up to it head-on. Actually experiencing the cold has helped me to not only appreciate what old man winter has to offer, but to grow quite fond of him in the process.

See ya'll out there.