You can’t tell by this photo, but it’s melting here. The snow, I mean. Below my shoes is snow and slush, puddles and patches—which means the road is both clear and sneakily icy.

Late January in Wisconsin is a time of both/and. There are sunny days so cold all you can do is scream obscenities through your scarf, and your nose hairs freeze and break, as you waddle the parking lot to your f-uh-fuh-fuh-freezing car.

And there are days like today: a real feel of 42 degrees F. Running requires a single layer of clothing and normal, toothless shoes.

It’s the kind of day you want to push you want to push yourself, linger a while, go fast and far—but you’re also out of shape and edging towards your (dear God) 50s and so you decide a little push is good enough. I took the 3.4 mile route and ran most of it.

Winter running is a spectacle of the beautifully dead. Look at these dried grasses with their big, feathery hats.

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