The bleak midwinter

It’s Martin Luther King Junior Day. No school.

Temperature: 12 °F.

Wind speed: approx. 20 m.p.h.

Wind chill: 5 °F.

Snowy.

I go running.

Clothing: 3 shirt layers; 3 pant layers; shoes; spikes (thanks, Cristian); stockings; a stocking cap; 2 pairs of gloves.

Attempted distance: 7 miles.

Completed distance: 5.95 miles.

I knock off early because my hands are more numb than they’ve ever been. After I return to my building, I must wait several minutes until I can grasp the key firmly enough to unlock the door.

When feeling returns, the pain in my hand is so severe, I nearly faint. I collapse onto my couch; my head swims. Hours later, my nose still stings.

♦ ♦ ♦ ♦ ♦

Hours and hours and hours later, indoors, it’s beautifully cozy — you see, we’ve been turning on the heat. (We kept it off until last week. I was always under a blanket.) I glance up from my computer: outside, snow is swirling in all directions. Kenny emerges from his room, dressed from head to foot. He’ll try his luck running on the trail. … Some short minutes later, he returns. He brushes the snow off his cap; I feel cozier.

These days, Kenny and I watch a lot of Peep Show. Flatmates watching flatmates. Males watching other males who can’t help but compete against one another. Which of us is Jez, and which is Mark? Alas, I’m Mark (the anxious one). Or is Kenny Mark? (Kenny is definitely more of a capitalist.) But why must one of us be Mark? Or Jez for that matter? Why must we be either of those twerps? Why couldn’t we both be Super Hans? Super Hans is the cool one. Kenny and I are both cool, aren’t we? I’m definitely Super Hans, without the drugs.

♦ ♦ ♦ ♦ ♦

The 49ers and Ravens will play each other in the Super Bowl. Coach Harbaugh vs. Coach Harbaugh: brother vs. brother. Goodness that’s rough.