ndo19.tracksmith.com
Open in
urlscan Pro
54.194.41.141
Public Scan
URL:
https://ndo19.tracksmith.com/
Submission: On September 09 via automatic, source certstream-suspicious — Scanned from DE
Submission: On September 09 via automatic, source certstream-suspicious — Scanned from DE
Form analysis 0 forms found in the DOM
Text Content
What is cold? Each day it reveals itself anew. Today, it’s a breath appearing in mid-air. A frosted face. Chapped lips. Sometimes it’s a whipping wind. Biting and bracing as it cuts through layers. Pushing and pulling, making you question every step. Often it’s a feeling, deep in your bones before you even emerge from bed. A prehistoric intuition, maybe you shouldn’t leave the cave. It can burn your lungs and nip at your ears. Freeze tears on your cheeks as you wipe a dripping nose. All this, for what? The silence of falling snow. The glitter of tree branches dusted overnight. The slow brilliance of a sunrise, revealing itself in muted tones. Today you run because you must. Despite yourself. If you can silence the bitter spirits awakened by the first licks of frigid air, what will you find? Maybe a new route, uncovered because the usual terrain is unpassable. The run flies by; novelty is the best distraction. Maybe new strength, discovered as you power up a hill, generating heat with every stride. Later you’ll wonder why you doubted yourself. Doing is always better than not. Maybe new friends, other brave souls determined to face whatever winter sends their way. A wave, an acknowledgment: “So you’re crazy, too.” This is the amateur’s season, made for lovers. The treadmill is there, certainly. And the indoor track, if you’re lucky. But runners cannot thrive inside for long. The road beckons. It’s time to cross another day off on the calendar. You read, once, about a runner who loved to train in the snow. Who believed bad weather was better for training than good. Maybe he was right? So you layer up and sip warm coffee in the dark of morning. Will yourself out into the cold air, scream a little and jump around. Probably you swear. And then you get going, making promises that if it still hurts in twenty minutes you can maybe, maybe, turn around. At first, a shuffle, as your body gets used to moving with layers over slick ground. With each step it gets easier. Like swimming in the Atlantic in June, it always feels better after you get your head wet. Heat begins to pool beneath layers and sweat forms on your skin. Each huff and puff generates steam that lingers in the air and sticks to your top. The world is bright. Snow throws things into sharp relief. Blue sky, bare trees, a winding road that ribbons out ahead of you. It’s eerily quiet and distractingly loud all at once. The frigid air is still, but your feet command attention with every crunching step. Each breath has an echo and once sluggish blood pounds in your veins. Mittens come off. It’s time to go. Now the cold is an afterthought. The work has taken its place, blotting out one discomfort with another. You push and push some more, so that even the pain of screaming muscles seems dulled. This is why you run: it feels good. When it’s over, there’s a moment before the cold comes screaming back when you’re still warmed from the inside out: a furnace of your own creation. That’s power. At a training camp in Craftsbury, VT, Kamilah Journet and Rafa Oliveira wore the all-new No Days Off Collection, featuring pieces made from Merino wool. Share Project Current Page Share Tweet Pin Linkedin Embed Close Report Embed Responsive 512×383 288×236 Back What is cold? Each day it reveals itself anew. Today, it’s a breath appearing in mid-air. A frosted face. Chapped lips. Sometimes it’s a whipping wind. Biting and bracing as it cuts through layers. Pushing and pulling, making you question every step. Often it’s a feeling, deep in your bones before you even emerge from bed. A prehistoric intuition, maybe you shouldn’t leave the cave. It can burn your lungs and nip at your ears. Freeze tears on your cheeks as you wipe a dripping nose. All this, for what? The silence of falling snow. The glitter of tree branches dusted overnight. The slow brilliance of a sunrise, revealing itself in muted tones. Today you run because you must. Despite yourself. If you can silence the bitter spirits awakened by the first licks of frigid air, what will you find? Maybe a new route, uncovered because the usual terrain is unpassable. The run flies by; novelty is the best distraction. Maybe new strength, discovered as you power up a hill, generating heat with every stride. Later you’ll wonder why you doubted yourself. Doing is always better than not. Maybe new friends, other brave souls determined to face whatever winter sends their way. A wave, an acknowledgment: “So you’re crazy, too.” This is the amateur’s season, made for lovers. The treadmill is there, certainly. And the indoor track, if you’re lucky. But runners cannot thrive inside for long. The road beckons. It’s time to cross another day off on the calendar. You read, once, about a runner who loved to train in the snow. Who believed bad weather was better for training than good. Maybe he was right? So you layer up and sip warm coffee in the dark of morning. Will yourself out into the cold air, scream a little and jump around. Probably you swear. And then you get going, making promises that if it still hurts in twenty minutes you can maybe, maybe, turn around. At first, a shuffle, as your body gets used to moving with layers over slick ground. With each step it gets easier. Like swimming in the Atlantic in June, it always feels better after you get your head wet. Heat begins to pool beneath layers and sweat forms on your skin. Each huff and puff generates steam that lingers in the air and sticks to your top. The world is bright. Snow throws things into sharp relief. Blue sky, bare trees, a winding road that ribbons out ahead of you. It’s eerily quiet and distractingly loud all at once. The frigid air is still, but your feet command attention with every crunching step. Each breath has an echo and once sluggish blood pounds in your veins. Mittens come off. It’s time to go. Now the cold is an afterthought. The work has taken its place, blotting out one discomfort with another. You push and push some more, so that even the pain of screaming muscles seems dulled. This is why you run: it feels good. When it’s over, there’s a moment before the cold comes screaming back when you’re still warmed from the inside out: a furnace of your own creation. That’s power.