Seven. It's not the number of miles I ran yesterday, or even the number of dwarfs in the movie I watched with Jack. Instead, it was the high temperature for the day, a day when I needed to go for a run.
Under those circumstances, many runners would do something foolish, namely run on a treadmill.
Instead, I layered up: red knee-high Oxysox, fleece pants, long-sleeved t-shirt with thumb holes, red fleece vest (which I forgot that I had on and surprised me when I got changed later), red windbreaker, black vest (see, forgot I had the red one on), hat, buff, thin running gloves, Steve's wooly glove/mitten hybrid "glittens."
And you know, after maybe 3/4 of a mile, I didn't feel cold any more. The main evidence of the cold was the frost that formed on my hat... and the fact that my watery eyes produced an ice clump in my eyelashes.
On a beautiful spring day, the streets are crowded with runners. Yesterday, I didn't see a single fellow runner out. I can only hope a few of my brethern spotted me and decided to go out later.
When the weather is as cold as it is here on the ice planet Hoth, you hear a lot of people griping about it. I believe those people should go outside. If you only experience winter through your window or your car, yes, it sucks. But if you're outside, you get an invigorating experience that gets your blood pumping. And the post-run hot chocolate is the most delicious thing there is.