Unable to sleep, I slipped out of the house for a run on the nearby W&OD Trail early in the morning, stepping into the white landscape of an early spring snow, wet, heavy and splashy. Twelve hours earlier I had traversed this very same path in my first race of the year, a completely satisfactory effort in a 5K on the same paved blacktop pathway, now covered with snow.
Off I set down the street that led to the trail, my footfalls evoking a splash of wet snow at every foot strike. Though the street was dark and deserted this early in the morning, a silent wonderland it was not.
Down Railroad Avenue and onto the bike path I went. My initial labored breathing had modulated into a regular pattern of deep breaths as I gingerly ran along, being careful not to slip on the sloppy, slippery surface.
(The trail approaching the bicycle bridge.)
It was a pretty landscape, every blemish in the land covered in a billowy white blanket with further large, thick snow crystals coming down heavily. Half an hour and three miles later I slipped back into the house, wet and cold but feeling fulfilled.