Full Nipple Erectus

I don’t know why I live in Michigan. I don’t like the cold. I hate winter. “Rust” is not my favorite color. The Lions stink (see: Thanksgiving, any year). I drive cars, sure, but I could care less what manufacturer’s logo is emblazoned on it. I don’t wear mittens; I’m a glove man. And, though I respect the rich history of Motown Records, I never listened to its artists. I don’t hunt (for anything but the elusive spotted PR - which can be found in any state). And did I mention there is a historically bad economy going on here?

In short, Michigan blows like Kid Rock’s next attempt at country music.

I’ve done my fair share of complaining about the weather. It’s a time-honored Michigan tradition…especially this time of year. I use the 30 seconds that I step outside to put my Garmin on the front porch to acquire a satellite signal to determine what I should wear on the impending run. You just never know at any time what it’s going to be like.

Full nipple erectus probably means two shirts and wind pants. Partial nipple erectus means a long sleeve shirt, hat, gloves but with shorts. An unexpectedly warm breeze and sun probably means it’ll turn cloudy with strong frozen blasts of wind sometime around mile two. Mother Nature likes to tease.

This is the time of year when I expect a 10-15 second drop in pace for every run. Between the long pants and the crippling asthmatic wheeze brought on by the 30 degree (or below) weather, the first casualty of war winter is innocence pace.

On Sunday, I managed to step out for a quick 6 miler feeling fresh as a recently powdered and diapered baby’s bottom. It was in the high-30’s and cloudy with only a little chilly breeze. As I headed out, I thought with satisfaction that this was a great morning for a run. I felt wonderful. It was cool but pleasant. My stride was loose and relaxed. That feeling lasted for a whole 60 seconds.

As I approached the ¼ mile mark, the two internal balloons inside my chest cavity began to shrivel to the size of my patience for Rich Rodriguez. I started sucking in deep breaths to try to keep the burners firing. I didn’t feel fresh like a newly diapered baby anymore. I felt like a baby that had eaten too much squash and made a little leaky present around one of the improperly fitted elastic legbands. With nearly 6 miles to go, this was going to suck…as in cold air suck…as in feel like you are slowly suffocating every step of the way suck.

As I finished up and peeled the cold, sweaty clothes into a pile on the carpeted floor for the laundry fairy* to magically wash, a simple truth dawned on me like it must have to the general public when they realized that Carlos Mencia is not funny: I love to run. This trumps the weather conditions. I’ve gone out in near 100 degree temperatures. I’ve run in 5 degree temperatures with a negative wind chill and everything else in between. It doesn’t matter what the weather is doing because, for me, it just affects what I wear.

I’ll still be out there either way. I shouldn’t even waste my breathe complaining. I will complain - you should know me by now - but I shouldn’t bother.

Michigan’s constantly changing climate presents some challenges but it really doesn’t override the bottom line: I’m going to run.

So, maybe Michigan isn’t so bad after all. The Great Lakes are pretty neat. It is nice to hold up the backside of your hand and point to the spot about half way between your middle knuckle and wrist as your home for those unfamiliar with the state’s geography.** Fall is beautiful. Summers are moderate. The Red Wings are terrific each year. No one wears sweater vests. And Kid Rock and Eminem just released new albums.

And, most importantly, we are not Ohio. Now that would be a reason to complain.

Happy trails.

*Mrs. Nitmos?
**How many of you just pointed to your hand? Be honest.