The Spring of My Running Discontent: How Can I Run in a Snowsuit?

Yesterday I decided to go for a run outside. It’s springtime in Chicago, meaning we’re all hoping to will the weather to change. One of my coworkers has been wearing flip flops every day despite the fact that 5 out of the last 7 days have been below freezing. I think she’s hoping that somehow her poor bare feet will convince Mother Nature to turn on the heat or something.

Anyway. It was sunny outside, and I wanted to look like one of those badass runners in tights and headbands I see jogging down the street in the dead of winter, so I bundled up and headed outside. I made it around the corner of my building before I realized it was cold. Really cold. I jogged to the lakefront, and was pleasantly surprised to see there was really no one running or biking there. On a typical warm Saturday, that area resembles the Indy 500 with no rules. As I rounded the corner to begin my picturesque jaunt along the lakefront, a gale force wind that was something out of the Perfect Storm on crack hit me. I tripped. I glanced around, saw no one had seen my stumble, and continued along. Play by play:

Minute 2:31: Think to self “this is crisp and pleasant. I can see my breath and my iPod feels like it’s being frozen to my arm, but hey, I’m out here and that’s what matters.”
Minute 4:17: Wind is making it hard to run in the direction I’m trying to go. I look like a fat lady in water aerobics trying to get to the edge of the pool.
Minute 7:02: Glance out at the lake and start to daydream about summer. Daydream promptly ends when giant freezing wave crashes nearby and gets my feet wet.
Minute 9:38: Thought dawns on me that I am doing this to myself. Make mental note to punish myself appropriately for this idiotic decision when I get home.
Minute 10:00: Pass by attractive man and quicken step to appear more athletic. Quickly realize the look he gives me isn’t a result of my impressive gait, but because I have frozen snot stuck to my cheek.
Minute 15:00: Pedometer freezes and starts telling me I’ve run 7 miles. Considering I’m not a Kenyan Olympic runner, I’m thinking this is a weather-related equipment malfunction.
Minute 17:24: Begin to think I understand what the arctic explorers and Donner party felt like. True desperation is setting in.
Minute 19:03: Pass by small child in stroller with hot chocolate. Want to knock parent down, throw child out of stroller and curl up in stroller with pilfered hot chocolate.
Minute: 21:57: Begin full on hallucinations. Start to think Leonardo DiCaprio is with me, telling me I’m not going to die “not here, not now.” Begin to worry that perhaps that freckle on my hand isn’t a freckle at all, but the beginning of gangrenous frostbite.
Minute 30:01: Damn it feels good to be back in my apartment huddled under 12 blankets eating macaroni and cheese.

It’s back to the treadmill for me, unless I can run in a snowsuit. Would I be more or less of an athlete if I went running in my Snuggie (book light optional)?