blow my whistle baby, whistle baby.

I was in a panic about my run last night because it was cold and I was nervous.

The cold ended up not being much of a bother, it was a freezing 19 degrees but my favorite fleece and my repurposed sherpa-lined hoodie took care of the details for me. It took a while to work out the kinks of running in such strong winds, but I found that tucking my sleeves into my gloves and alternating hands warming in my pockets really helped. Sadly, there was no cure for my right foot going numb (it's happened before and eventually I regain sensation) and I will probably always have a skin reaction to being out in the cold, but it's nothing that'll kill me.

The first time I ran this course I did it without knowing where it was or how long it was; I had a vague idea and the blind faith that kept me going in a moment of panic, so I can definitively say that adrenaline got me through the distance. This time it was at least 12 degrees cooler and I definitely lost the spark of being stranded without a plan.

As much fun as it was navigating myself through an unknown path in the woods, I've learned not to do that again because I could have gotten into serious trouble and no one would have known to look for me there. Knowledge is power they say, but it's hard to fight an adrenaline rush. As usual, the doubtful thoughts crept in and I feared my first stab at this course was an anomaly and I was bound to fail this time. Forget the fact that I'm well conditioned and I've been training for over a year. My stupid girl thoughts wanted me to fail.

I proved my stupid girl thoughts wrong by completing the course four minutes faster than I did on Wednesday, but a rare run-in with a very very thin layer of ice on the asphalt had me shaking in my britches. I spent the last 5 kilometers scared of every shadow, every streak of dirt smeared across the pathway thinking that it was frozen water threatening to end my run ruin my life. I started thinking about the possibility of falling and all the different ways I could land: on my wrist (broken wrist), on my bum (broken tailbone), on my knee (dislocated knee), in the splits position (hip problems for life)... the list went on and on. I was so petrified of hurting myself and never being able to run again that I literally came to a stop.

My fears LITERALLY stopped me from running because I was afraid that I would stop running. Yeah, that's logical.

My affinity for running (1) at night (2) on an unlit course (3) away from traffic (4) and without my cell phone means that my future in outdoor running is in jeopardy, at least during the winter months. I looked into getting YakTrax or similar products, but I'm not sure that's the best idea with FiveFingers and I don't exactly want to change my footwear so I guess this means I'm fucked. The half marathon training schedule that I'm follow is actually pretty low key, so I'm thinking maybe I should reinstate my gym membership and suck it up outdoors for maybe only one or two long runs per week.

Anxiety is getting the best of me.