My Badass Husband and I staying warm during the Army-Navy game last weekend at Lincoln Financial Field, home of the Philadelphia Eagles.
You're looking at 17 degrees F of pure superfan right here. Go Navy!
Want to know a secret? Now that I have officially figured out how to dress for comfortably for cold-weather running and not slip on the patches of roadside ice, I am ready to go home to San Diego (Gasp! I know!). BAH and I were laughing the other day because we were so excited for the cold, and after about 2 weeks of running in it, are kind of done. When you first move to San Diego from a northern latitude, you are so homesick for the changing of the seasons and the cold, especially around the holidays. It feels like perpetual summer, and to those of us used to the peaceful calm that winter brings every year, it can be very harsh on the senses, like you never get a break. After a couple of years though, you begin to realize that there are actually seasons, but they are very subtle, like a whisper. You learn to become an expert listener. You start to love and appreciate the warmth. That being said, the New England cold now seems like someone yelling in my ear.
Yes, I am spoiled and humbled.
One of my favorite things to do while I run, regardless of the weather, is to chew and digest words and numbers. Sometimes I count them; sometimes I organize them; and sometimes, I just taste and appreciate them. In a previous post, I mentioned that I am currently reading a breathtaking account of a blind traveler named James Holman, who lived from 1786-1857. I have no problem admitting absolute obsession with this book, of which I have earmarked almost every other page for its inspiration, beauty, and sweet complexity of descriptive structure, so as not to forget the tastes of these gifts.
Jason Roberts has authored not just an historical account of one of the most interesting people who ever lived, but also a reminder that we should all be better "listeners" with regard to our maps of the world, be they seasonal or other.
"Vision is an indiscriminate, almost greedily swift way of acquiring knowledge. The eye takes in everything in a single gulp - size, shape, position, texture, composition, color. It leaps about, flickering the window then back, all in a fraction of a second. The mind patchworks these dartings together into a precise, continuously updated spatial map, one that allows for rapid, assured movement through the assembled landscape.
No doubt the sight-centric consciousness developed as a crucial survival characteristic for our species, but it is not without its drawbacks. Our focus wanders to the bright and vivid. Our assessment of an object is skewed toward the portion facing us. And the spatial map that seems to orient us so firmly is, in reality, a thin thread, which disappears the instant sight is obscured."
- Jason Roberts, A Sense of the World, p. 68