Frosty River Run

Sun rising over the trees at the Hooch

Two weeks ago Saturday night, we set the alarm for 5 am.  The plan was routine: get up and feed dogs, go back to bed for 2 hours, then get up and head to the river.  I had scheduled a herding lesson for the afternoon, so it was predetermined that we wouldn't work Stetson hard that morning in order to eliminate the potential for an overuse or fatigue injury.  The river is a perfect outing for either recovery, or just taking it easy.  It's flat, relatively soft and the path is wide; so no matter how many dogs you encounter, there's always room to give each other space.  It is the perfect place to get a nice workout without risking much in return.

The alarm goes off, I bounce up off my pillow in anticipation and hear myself muttering "ah, sh____!, I'm sick" followed by a cough and a wheeze.  I think to myself "okay, no big deal we go back to bed".  Then I get to the back door to let the dogs out and glance over at the thermometer - it's 29 degrees.  Holy cow, we haven't had many cold mornings this year and I'm not going to miss this one.  There's something about running in the cold, when you can see your breath and you cannot tell if the pain in your legs is muscle fatigue or just plain coldness that brings a new level of enjoyment and a different rush to the whole process.  No, I was not going to miss this cold morning after having dealt with rain and muggy conditions for weeks.  So I brought  the dogs in, bounced back to the bedroom, lathered myself in Vicks to open up my wheezy chest and reset the alarm for 7ish.  When the alarm goes off again I flip out of bed and decidedly "feel great".

The dogs are packed and we're off.  I swear there is nothing that ails me that a few minutes in my sneakers with one of my dogs on lead cannot cure, at least for a minute.  We walked the usual 3 miler as a precaution in the event there was really something wrong with me and also to keep Stetson in check for his herding lesson that afternoon.  And healed I was, or so I thought.

The trail was kissed with frost.  Fog hung low over the river.  Occasionally you could see a group of ducks float by as if in an old movie; no volume, just a visual moment to see the grandeur of nature waking up before your eyes.

The river, "awake", after our walk

After the walk and our typical Sunday lunch out, I took Stetson for a herding lesson.  He was exceptionally good (my opinion, which does not necessarily count) and we had a grand time working together with Amy and watching others who had come out for an opportunity to work sheep with their dogs.  It was a great afternoon filled with lessons, friendship, laughs, observations and camaraderie between dog people.  Somewhere near the end of the lesson my voice began to escape.  I became hoarse and vocally weak.  We joked that I must have yelled at my dog, (who was a barking spectator for a period of the day), too much.  And so the next two weeks went.  From A to Z, I've battled and eventually found victory over symptom after symptom of the common cold.  Two weeks of coughing, sneezing, wheezing, blowing and otherwise feeling awful.

I've occupied my time and the dogs minds with some obedience work and other non-physical activities.  Stetson was shown in conformation in Jonesboro this past weekend, so we have not lost much time other than the pining for a run.  Runners long for the pavement or trail the way others ache for the warmth of sun on a blustery February day.

Tonight I managed to get sneakers on, dogs in harness and we took in a short run under thick cloud cover.  It was humid and there was a damp chill in the air, but I only felt it while I went up the driveway.  Once we turned onto the road, all that seemed to hold me back for two weeks vanished into the night air. Topping each of the small hills in the neighborhood felt like I'd reached some far away snow covered summit in a rocky mountain range.  Stetson even gave a whine when I brought his harness into the house, it seems he too missed the pavement.