Four weeks, four snowstorms. It may not sound like a lot to some- a northern Vermonter, for example, might pause in goat-milking only long enough to snort dismissively at such weather. But around Philadelphia, that’s a lot of snow. Everyone’s weary of the whiteouts, especially those of us who leave the warmth of our home in footwear designed not for shoveling but for running.

According to my sources, recent snowfall can be blamed on the ire of a jet stream, which, as far as I can tell, is some sort of capricious weather demon.

But there is good news. This week’s storm (for the storms will continue) is only supposed to bring about two inches of snow. The jet stream must have been appeased somehow- somehow perhaps involving dancing and chicken-sacrifices.

Original map courtesy of phillyweather.net

I hope that this will allow for some overdue miles. Training should start with a 35-40 mile week (I’m a cautious optimist), and from there I can grind my way upward in mileage until I feel ready for the next meaningful race. Snow spirits allowing, of course.

It seems my morale has hit an annual low point. Hateful winter has presented itself in the usual forms- crappy weather and sickness- and the two have aligned against my running schedule.

First, a weather highlight. Snow is falling continuously enough that the sidewalks are never bare. The most recent storm, however, has coated the streets with an oily sludge entirely unlike snow. Imagine being ankle-deep in a gray, misery-flavored Slurpee, and you have Philadelphia’s current running conditions. Add to that a stomach bug and you have my current running conditions.

Or, perhaps I should say non-running conditions. I couldn’t eat, drink, or even walk a quarter-mile today without puking. A run just wasn’t in the cards. A shame- it would have made me feel better if it wasn’t guaranteed to make me feel so much worse.

Anyone running at this time of year will have ice on his mind; however I didn’t really start thinking about it until I watched my high school runners’ misadventures. Most slip around like the sidewalk is coated in marbles instead of frozen water. They don’t fall too often, but they end their runs extra sore and tired. A few have accomplished grand, but entirely unintentional, ballet moves for the rest of us; they usually end up on the injured bench.

Whilst trying to help my poor young runners, it only seems fair to share my tips with the wider running world. Certain changes in your form can help you run injury free (and much faster) across the ice. These may seem instinctual to you; if so, congratulations. My high schoolers have proven that to some, this form is a learned thing.

Some tips:

Keep your feet low: Don’t lift your feet as high as you normally do; this forces you to lean forward and raises the chances that you’ll end up eating snow.

Take short steps: If following the above tip makes you sweep your feet like brooms, don’t. Short, quick steps minimize your loss in speed- and keep you from falling on your butt.

Land on the midfoot: Landing on your toes or heel can allow you to slip before your foot makes solid contact with the ground. In short, do neither.

Don’t swing your arms too hard: Doing so twists the opposite foot. This normally isn’t a problem, but on ice it can do anything from leaving the ankle a little extra sore to spilling you on the ground.

Hope these are helpful!

A little over a year ago, I found myself snowed in. I resorted to the elliptical, a machine which I feel bears even less merit than the dreaded suckmill.

It appears we’ve come full circle. The other day my workout was, once again, on the elliptical. And, just like last year, I had a difficult time swallowing my pride. It wasn’t until I yesterday’s outdoor run that I saw the wisdom in my choice. Long stretches of unshoveled snow, high snow piles, and ice-caked sidewalks make running outside almost as unsatisfying as the elliptical.

In less whiny news, Christmas has been kind to me. In addition to my new television and a very warm coat, I received an addition to my burgeoning supply of winter running gear. Gail gave me an Under Armor baselayer and tights; she also created a useful place for storing them that should prevent any future fiascoes (like the recent one). I now have a big plastic container with the following message attached:

A message from my running gear.

I hate treadmills. Hate ‘em. If I could, I would never use them– but this is sadly unfeasible. It seems like situations will always arise that send us indoors to that inexhaustible manufacturer of monotony.

Nothing drove that fact home more than the two feet of snow that blankets Bethlehem. The streets are icy and the roads buried beneath snow. All in all, it’d make for a dangerous, fruitless run outside. I knew what a responsible runner would do. My long run of the week would take place indoors.

So this responsible runner ran 12.5 miles on a treadmill, nonstop. My iPod won’t stay in my sweaty ears, and the TV didn’t seem to be working. It was miserable.

On the plus side, I’m injury free and I can actually offer you loyal readers some mile splits. I haven’t been able to keep track of my pace since my Forerunner drowned in a sea of sweat, so this is quite exciting for me. Anyway, here goes:

Miles 1-4: 6:40 Pace.
Miles 5-12.5: 6:18 Pace.

It was a grueling training session, between the boredom and the unusual intensity (you’d think that they’d conflict, but no—it’s a double whammy). I had decided that I needed a reward by the time I hit 12.5 of my 13 mile workout.

That is why I was seen yesterday afternoon, sprinting a half-mile around campus, wearing nothing but my running shorts and shoes. A wholly-earned victory lap in the snow. Because, dammit, being a responsible runner only gets you so far.