Frizen

The ice queen has arrived and not before time. She arrived with her chilly cohort. She's a cool customer, parading her sub-zero wares around the place in her frosty chariot. The mercury has plummeted to a testing minus 6 in the last few nights and still below freezing during the day. In celebration (as I am of the same Ilk; from the same tribe) I have knocked out two solid 8 milers through the 'frizen' woods at lunchtime. No speed; no ipod; a low thrum from the A1. Hard on the soles in fell shoes. Just me and a few robins, the occasional pigeon or blackbird and magpie.
There has, in recent years, been a creeping propensity, a predisposition to wind work down when the opalescent grey clouds of winter arrive and we are fed the annual fare from the mainstream channels of the Country grinding to a halt. The big freeze. Happy enough with this apparent state, and never reluctant to find an excuse to cop off to the immure and torpid forest, the ferns wizened and brown below a coating of crystal pyjamas, I have for some considerable time, felt eager to get out when the proper icy air clamps your face and your finger ends are looking for more than a cheap wooly glove for somewhere to keep them from going white.  Here, at blog HQ, we are near the coast and this has moderated the climate a little. So tomorrow first thing, I'm off in search of some running in colder climes. Wish me luck.