A Jog in the Snow

Fitness is important to me. I don't want to be a fat old goat. But keeping my weight in line is getting tougher all of the time. Granted, I am still within 15 pounds of my high school weight, and there is not a belly problem, so I shouldn't worry so much about it. But I do. That's why I jog. But to many of the young guys who blast by me on the trail, "jog" may be a poor use of the word.

Sam used to jog everyday. He was the captain I flew with in my young pilot days. We use to laugh at him becuase his jog was nothing more than a fast shuffle. I watched him run from my hotel room and I am sure I laughed. Just like some of the guys, ladies, and maybe even dogs on the trail laugh at me now.

I am paying dues for laughing at Sam. He was out there for the same reasons I am.

But there is an art to winter jogging. We are very lucky in Lincoln because we have one of the greatest trail systems in the country. For the most part, they are paved. They also get plowed within hours of the end of a snowstorm. Sure, there are going to be patches of ice here and there, but for the most part, they're in great shape.

Except for last night.

I was on the fence about jogging. It started to snow about 6:00pm. It was a pretty snow--big flakes with and no wind. Do you remember that crunch under foot from a fresh snow? Do you remember a time when you were all alone in while a pretty snow fell gently on your face? It was irresistable. I layered up and went out.

There was only one other set of tracks on the fresh snow. He was half gazelle about 22 I would guess, because he made one stride to my three. Screw him. I was enjoying my time and watched the bunnies run along the trail with me. I was catching a crippled one until he made a serious right turn. There are some that just can't stand to fall behind.

When I am in the groove because I can barely hum the USC fight song. (That's the best one for jogging because you can slow it down or speed it up to suit your mental and physical state.) The band was a little slow tonight. I made the turn and started back home. The gazelle's tracks were starting to fill in with snow so I image he was home, showered, and drinking a beer. No one was out there but me. I owned the night, and the light, fluffy, beautiful snow. Dah dah, *foot crunch* da duh da dah *foot crunch* da dopie doo, *foot crunch" da doopie dooooo.

Then trouble.

About a block in front of me, everything disappeared. I suddenly realized I hadn't seen a bunnie in a while either. And, in just a few seconds, I didn't see anything. (In case you are wondering, my view would look like the margins on this blog so that's why no picture. I know. Jip.)

It's called a white out. The little snow storm had suddenly turned into a blizzard and I was the blizzardee. My mind raced. What if a Mexican wolf was lurking in the bushes and mistaked me for Little Red Taco Head?

What if I slipped and fell and broke a hoof? I would lay there and feeze to death. (Bunnies don't pack cell phones.) It was suddenly colder. My mustache iced up. That's a bad sign for an x-pilot because that could mean his brain might stall.

Blowing snow also means drifting. Jogging was out. Mountain climbing was in. I jogged. I climbed. The SC fight song was not the right song for climbing. Then I knew my mind wasn't working right because it served up the Texas fight song. I would rather face the Mexican wolf, illlegal or not, than rely on the Texas fight song to get me through this. Plus, the hook 'em thing might scare the Mexican wolf off and he might be my last hope unless I could convince a bunnie to risk it and take an emergency note to Wendys somewhere out there in all of that white.

I am sure there were little sets of eyes starring at me from under little piles of branches and leaves. I am sure they wondered why this old goat was out here in this awful weather. Do bunnies only eat frozen leaves or during winter, do they mutate and develop a holiday taste for fat old goat?

I was alone with the Texas fight song going in my freezing mind. Help me Jesus.

Then, just as suddenly, the wind died down. I could see the lights of the Wendys again. My mind filled with the smell from the fast-food store next to my tin house.

I knew I was going to make it. I wasn't going to fall and freeze to death, only to get plowed into the ditch by the city. My family wouldn't have to identify me in the spring with that horrid expession on my terror-filled face and that hook 'em sign frozen into my hand. Would they know that the fitness devil had put the Texas fight song into my frozen, dying mind as I fell to the ground in bunnieville?

No one would be looking for me here, hell, it's a fitness trail. "Why was he on a fitness trail?" they would wonder.

"Gimmer a triple with the works, biggie fries,and a biggie frosty," I told the Wendys guy.

Screw it. After all, I am only 15 pounds heavier than I was when I was in high school.