Snowmageddon: Mostly Cons

Okay, Snowmageddon, you win.

I was supposed to run 12 miles this morning, but I cut it down to 10.  Actually, I almost shaved it down to five, but I got ballsy and went for a double-digit goal.  I was amazed at how a run, a city, a landscape could be simultaneously so magical and so miserable.  Magerable?  Misgical?

I did make it home without dying or twisting an ankle, and now that I'm home (in an overly heated apartment in a bikini and slouchy over-the-knee socks, no less), I'm ready to commence the whining about this misgical run.  I should've known that spotting more skiers out than runners meant something important, something like I should've brought my ass right back home.  That's 29 skiers to 8 runners, by the way.  And it's not like I live in the fucking mountains.  I live in a metropolitan area.  It's not even the suburbs.  Next time, I'll take the hint.

Alright, so here's the whine list:

• Just a general complaint to start off:  it sucks.  Every single step is a mind-boggling, soul-crushing effort.  I even contemplated taking a taxi back home.  As if taxis were even out in this mess.
• Apparently it's dangerous to inhale snowflakes through one's nose.
• Speaking of snowflakes, they are not soft.  At least not when they fly directly into my eye.  They're sharp and jabby.
• I didn't feel particularly badass to be out there, just crazy.  Or stupid.  I wanted to jump someone and steal her skis.
• I learned that after two hours of nonstop flurry-induced snot rockets, eventually it makes me pee myself each time . . . just a little.
• I felt like Lucille Ball in the episode where she gets locked in a freezer, frosty eyelashes and all.  Minus the crazy red '50s lipstick, though.  Maybe I'll save that for tomorrow.