Frozen follies

Stupid, stupid, stupid.

Way too much stubbornness. Not nearly enough good judgment.

After enjoying a run on Monday morning with temperatures in the fifties, I went out Wednesday in shorts, a short-sleeve shirt and a wind jacket. I did have some thin gloves on and a running hat, but that wasn’t nearly enough for what I found to be 33 degrees when I checked later.

I figured that I would warm up after a while. And I needed to get going so I would have time to finish the run, get back and make breakfast for the Ozlings and then get everybody off to school and work.

As I pressed on, I warmed up a little bit but was generally miserable. These are the kinds of running mornings I dreamed about back in the scorching summer. I am a weather wimp, I admit, but my wimpiness is about the heat, not cool and crisp temperatures.

I gutted it out for my five miles.

When I walked in, the girl Ozling was sitting on the couch reading a book.

“Is that all you wore?” she asked, displaying the vast wisdom of her 9 years. “I’ll bet you froze your patoot off.”