Running on ice is similar to running with scissors.
Most safety experts advise against either activity. Don’t try it, they say; you might get hurt. And yet, when we are snowed in for days and can’t get outside to exercise, what are we supposed to do?
The new snow covering the road blended seamlessly with the surrounding landscape making one smooth, white-on-white surface without blemish or distinction except for a few thin tire trails left by neighbors on the assumed roadbed. No government snow plows had yet made an appearance. Becky and I had no reasons to leave, so we stayed in.
True, Becky and I had gone out for walks and wanders in the woods, but we did no driving from Wednesday when the snow came until Saturday afternoon when we thought it might be a good plan to see if we could get our Subaru out of the driveway. Engaging the X-Mode all-wheel drive feature, we slowly inched down the gravel driveway to the road. The road was by now a pattern of mostly snow with here and there dark patches of pavement. On Sunday morning we cautiously headed for church. Thankfully — and I mean that — we made it there and back home.
Primed, perhaps, by our short Sunday trip into the world, Becky was antsy to move, to get active. So was I. We needed to run. Running is a part of our health maintenance program and we were missing it. We conducted a risk assessment: we factored in our ages and the possibility of broken bones against our desire to get the outdoors blood flowing. We added the promise that we would carefully walk rather than take a chance on any iffy white patch. We also accounted for the intangible factor: the thrill and challenge of the risk. We opted to go for it and began the ritual of suiting up for a cold weather run.
We live in the hilly part of Indiana where it is a challenge sometimes to find a long stretch of flat. We figured any ice/snow on slopes would add to the falling risk, so we opted for our go-to flat course. If we start in our driveway and run a half mile south to Barker’s hill (six tenths, to be precise) then turn back home, we have a relatively level one-mile course. And if we go back and forth, we can run two or three mostly horizontal miles. It can get tedious, if we let it, but it would be safer. So, that was our plan.
The wind from the northwest was biting, but we needed to stay focused so we let it be. The last thing we should think of was our speed, so both of us let that go, as well. Slow and careful was the operating principle. Short strides seemed like the best strategy along with an extra awareness of body balance. Each footfall had to be planned in advance. The occasional patches of dark road allowed me to mentally relax slightly, at least until I approached the upcoming area of white. Soon I felt I could differentiate hard ice from safer snowy spots. And always, like a kind of Zen walking meditation (running meditation?), I needed to be in the moment. After two miles, we decided we were done.
Later, I consulted the Runner’s World website. Probably should have done that before we went out. We were advised that the kind of snow that is good for packing is the safest snow to run on. I know we had that because Becky hit me in the back with a snowball. Turns out, most of the adaptations we made — the slow speed, the small quick steps, feet close to the ground, staying focused — were the same suggestions from the experts. It seemed kind of obvious as we were doing it; the changes just seemed like common sense.
Then again, some would say, common sense would suggest not going out to run on snow and ice in the first place.
