BELL LAP #37

THANKS AGAIN, WINTER (March 7, 2001)

If initial signals prove correct--increased daylight, diminishing piles of snow and ice, hyperkinetic robins--this winter may finally be running low on venom, at least here in the Inland Northwest. Snow that fell in early November, and that hasn't had the courtesy to leave since then, is piddling its last puddles. The end, it appears, is in sight.

And not a moment too soon. For those in this region who choose to maintain an outdoor running program in December, January and February, this winter has been the truest test of stamina and commitment we've faced in a long, long time.

Most winters we suffer plenty of snow, but we also enjoy breaks in the onslaught. A storm hits, buries us a foot deep, and we trudge our five miles. A few days later, though, a warm chinook blows through town, and we're back to running on wet, stable asphalt. We can handle this. And some winters are so mild we run forest trails in January. We can definitely handle that.

This year, though, has been one slow, tricky, slip-and-slide after another, day after day, month after month. Each snowfall has piled on the one before it, melting and refreezing, forming larger and larger piles and ridges in the roads. The ruts between ridges haven't been much better. Sales of traction devices for running shoes have been brisk.

So thank you, winter, for again making me a better runner.

Whazzat? Well, maybe it's just turning lemons into lemonade, but I've always felt that the forced slowdown and test of resolve that winter demands are a runner's best friends. You struggle, to be sure, but if you persevere you emerge in March better for the effort. Commitment is reinforced, legs are strong, and enthusiasm rises like sap. A clear path and blue sky are sweeter for their months-long absence.

Native Americans are said to have measured the passage of time by counting winters, and I believe it. Winter has an icy heft that sticks in memory. Living through a winter like the one just past is a triumph, and running through one creates pride that lasts until August.

How else to explain the success of runners from northern states? Over the years, Minnesotans like Gary Bjorklund, Dick Beardsley, Mark Nenow, Janice Klecker, Steve Holman and Bob Kempainen have slogged out of the Great North and onto the international running scene. These people clearly know how to suffer.

I used to discuss the advantages of winter with Minnesota runners at least once a year. They would gush about the advantages of life at 30 below. How winter sharpens determination. How dormancy is restorative. How winter makes spring sweeter. We generally had these discussions on the beach in Bermuda. Sometimes, though, it was Hawaii.

So yes, winter is sometimes better in the abstract. And it is sometimes adversary enough when glimpsed out the steamy window of a health club. Or remembered on the beach at Waikiki.

All I know is that I've survived another one. Winter isn't over everywhere in the nation, and I realize that in some regions far south of here where hot, sticky summer is the true villain, December and January are prime running season.

But I'll choose winter as nemesis any day. Especially now, as spring struggles to its feet. Especially now, as we begin picking up the pace. Now, when speedwork is tough but thrilling. And tempo runs joyous. And clear streets a miracle. Now, as we run enobled by thoughts of all those tough sledding days of yore.

So thanks again, winter, for everything. And now, please, begone. Because we're really, really sick of you.