During a week of intense uncertainty and worry, the running routine has become an effort to keep emotions in check and preserve some aspect of normal.
I’ve been unexpectedly grateful for the cold snap in our area. Cold has scattered people to indoor havens, leaving a more conducive environment for rumination. The few people left outside concentrate on their own matters, allowing my feelings to roam in open air.
My running pace surges, heaves, and pauses in time with my thoughts, but only to a certain point. Too much shoegazing and the unsentimental cold scrapes my cheeks, or teams up with the wind to deliver an ice cream headache and yank on my ears. I get the message and pad off in search of the run cocoon.
The run cocoon is a blanket of shelter that I weave for myself with the continued movement of my limbs. My arms swing lightly as my feet rock back and forth. I bend my body into the headwind. Gradually, the ache in my forehead fades, hands grow warm under my wool mittens, and the head heats from the inside out.
My steady though inelegant gait wraps me in the run cocoon. Feet step along and emotions flow out. The coziness of my self-generated run cocoon contrasts against the frigid air and my worries and fears momentarily lessen.
Some people dislike the cold weather and retreat inside, but if they just ran around a bit they might find their own run cocoon and like it. I do. The cold reminds me it’s good to keep moving forward, even during less-than-ideal times.
chasingmailboxes.com 
This one really makes me miss running.
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Hum, now I am really intrigued to know where you are from and if your cold is as cold as our cold here in Montreal. It’s funny how in December and January all my running friends and I were saying how wonderful it was to run in winter time and now this enthusiast has begun to dried up, so it seem. Most of us here are trying to keep up the motivation to go out in the minus 25 degree Celsius (around -10 Fahrenheit). I feel what you are saying though about the running cocoon. You have an unique way of describing this special feeling. Congratulation on an well written article.
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Hi Julie, I’m from Iowa and currently live in Washington, D.C. In D.C., we do not endure the temperatures you do in Montreal, but we’ve been having a few cold days here with siginificant wind. I think the cold days are probably easier to enjoy when they don’t last as long and don’t drop below zero farenheit.
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Yes, we do enjoy it for a while ! But I’d say the wind is the worst. Even a -20 degree celsius is not so bad without any wind.
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good way to state it.
maybe that’s where i am when i snowshoe in the freezing cold, in a cocoon where i create my own micro-environment.
i’m so glad you found your bliss in the cold and snow. so many people hate it. i knew you’d be stronger than that.
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I would think it’s similar. Thank you for your always-thoughtful comments, pencilfox.
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Your best post since visiting the falling blossoms last spring on your bicycle — or was it the spring before? ~Keith
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Thank you so much, Keith. Yeah, I think it was last spring…
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Prayers for peace for you…
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Thank you.
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I do the same thing on the bike. It’s very often my therapy. I’ve always called it my Zone.
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Physical activity is so good on many levels, not just exercise, right?
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I also think of the bike as the zone. I hope the source of “uncertainty and worry” resolves itself quickly. All the best…… MBx
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Thank you, Mike.
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I love how you’ve phrased the “cocoon.” I call it finding my “place” when I’m relentlessly moving forward, yet neither towards nor away from anything in particular. Stay warm. Stay happy!
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I hope you get yourself through this period of uncertainty.
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Beautiful.
There really is something special about being out in the harsh elements, and being able to find joy and peace, rather than the fearful misery we sometimes anticipate.
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I have always thought of it as the transition from “going out for a run” to “being the run.” It always takes a mile or 4 to happen, and it doesn’t always happen, but it is amazing when it does. There have been days when I suddenly realized I am at mile 8 (or whatever), almost home, and I haven’t really had a thought since mile 2. Sometimes I can think back and remember things, but often I can just smile, remembering only the feeling.
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