At 3 a.m. runner finds solitude in snowstorm
By Bret Hayworth Journal staff writer | Posted: Thursday, January 06, 2005
Having laced on the shoes, thrown on a stocking cap and slung on three layers for the upper body, I swing the door closed and step out onto a street filled with an inch of fresh snow. Snow had only fallen on one day of this mild 2004-05 winter in Sioux City, but the prediction on Tuesday was for parts of Siouxland to get 8 to 15 inches of snow by Thursday.
It is 2:57 a.m., the temperature is 5 degrees and questions are flying through my head.
As runners know, you only get one good run on city streets with each new snowfall. That comes only in the fresh crunch of undisturbed snow, before plows take it away, leaving ice beneath and the freeze/thaw cycle makes things too messy.
But why do I feel the need to get a workout in for the first time in four days? (Two young kids and no time from 7 a.m. to 9 p.m.) Why did I have to wake up with such cold feet in the first place, unable to get back to sleep? (The doc says it's low blood pressure.) What quality a run can I get in after only 3.5 hours of sleep? Does the extra effort of slogging through snow mean I can get by with only three miles instead of four?
No doubt prompted by the staff meeting 12 hours earlier to brainstorm storm coverage ideas, the questions keep coming. Will I have to write another story about how there is virtually no sidewalk salt left in town? Or is the more appropriate story today about a rush on snowblowers and shovels, since ice melt isn't much good on a half-foot of snow?
I look around the Leeds streets I am traversing at 10-minute-per-mile pace (hey, slow since I don't want to fall) and see most side streets are unmarked by vehicle tracks. At 3:06 a.m., I hear a train whistle from a locomotive on the tracks just west of Floyd Boulevard. The questions start again. How do trains keep from sliding off tracks -- there is no guy out clearing railroad tracks of snow, right?
Will the trash I set out be picked up at the usual 5:30 a.m. time? (Close, 6:10 a.m.) Will the city crews do yeoman's work or are people on the mark when complaining about unplowed streets? (With 510 miles to address, they do a more-than-passable job.) What time will my street get plowed? Will I see people today, the ones obviously with no garages, who have only one-fifth of their windshields swiped off, peering out a hole to "see" the traffic around them? (Sadly, yes)
How will my coworkers living in outlying towns get to work? Aren't I glad I changed my Moville commute for living in the city? (Not really) Would it be easier to get around in winter if I traded the 14-year-old four-cylinder import for an SUV? Why does my wife .... (Well, let's not get too far into this stream-of-consciousness thing.)
Feeling the cold in my feet, my mind switches to homeless people in Sioux City. Where are they at 3 a.m. in a snowstorm? Shouldn't I have worked at the soup kitchen over the holidays? (Yes, Mr. Conscience.) Are there truly needy or physically challenged people who have a hard time when such storms hit? (Certainly) What about 80-year-old widows on fixed incomes, how do they get 10 inches of snow off sidewalks? (A great program operated by Siouxland Aging Services gives monetary assistance for such chores.)
Remembering reports there would be 5 to 8 inches of snow by morning, I wonder why forecasts are frequently so off. I ponder whether it is worth all the angst running around in a bread-buying, gas-filling frenzy right before storms. And why haven't I invested in a snowblower? After 25 years of shoveling my parents' and my own driveways and sidewalks, don't I deserve a snowblower? (Yes!) But could I even operate one? (Probably not!)
A few places still have twinkling Christmas lights out. In spite of the fact that I'm out in the middle of the street, I twice set off motion detectors back on garages. I travel down a street I'd previously "run" on and see my tracks -- can my strides really be that short?
I recall a colleague wondering who is it that invariably gets out to the malls and shopping centers in spite of snowstorms. Curious, I change course and head down to the 24-hour Wal-mart SuperCenter on Floyd Boulevard. At 3:49, a police cruiser is idling outside the front door. Inside, the male officer is chatting with the sole employee working checkout. He says it has been a quiet night around town; she says patronage dropped off drastically after 12:30 a.m., a much slower night than usual.
There are only two customers in the store, the clerk said, and most who had been in before were after bread, milk and ice melt crystals. She pointed to the last nine bags of ice melt in two carts -- prized items for which Sioux Cityans likely would pay 10 times the listed $1.96 price.
Stepping outside, I'm reminded there is a brisk north wind and it's not just 5 degrees out, with wind chill, it is minus 20. At 4:01 a.m., a man driving a black pickup going 15 mph rubbernecks at the bizarre jogger clad head to ankle in yellow. A minute later, a multi-ton caravan of steel and flashing lights passes. Three city plows head south on Floyd, one right behind the other with blades down and scraping up sparks, then turn together as well onto Outer Drive. I hope they eventually split up, to get more bang for the buck.
Are school superintendents in far-flung districts out making decisions on school cancellations? (Many will arise within the next hour to do so.) Isn't that a thankless job, to be responsible for deciding on a two-hour late start or whether to cancel entirely? And why do some schools call off classes to save their students a dicey 15-mile drive, and then pack up a basketball team and drive them 55 miles through the stuff for a game the same night? (No good reason I know.)
At 4:10 a.m., I spy the first garbage truck, which passes by on Floyd Boulevard. I can't see the dread on the faces of the workers for the task they are about to perform. At 4:17, I hear scraping again, only this time it is a solitary person out scooping snow by hand at Dental Depot. That makes for the only person I'll see outside a car. I witness about 30 cars driving the whole time -- only two on side streets, the rest on Floyd. I am the only jogger out.
Isn't it nice to be out in such a peaceful sort of snowfall, even with the bone-chilling temps? And won't it be worse a few hours from now, when we white-knuckle it into work on half-plowed roads and after the additional snow plops down?
Bret Hayworth may be reached at (712) 293.4203 or brethayworth@siouxcityjournal.com
It is 2:57 a.m., the temperature is 5 degrees and questions are flying through my head.
As runners know, you only get one good run on city streets with each new snowfall. That comes only in the fresh crunch of undisturbed snow, before plows take it away, leaving ice beneath and the freeze/thaw cycle makes things too messy.
But why do I feel the need to get a workout in for the first time in four days? (Two young kids and no time from 7 a.m. to 9 p.m.) Why did I have to wake up with such cold feet in the first place, unable to get back to sleep? (The doc says it's low blood pressure.) What quality a run can I get in after only 3.5 hours of sleep? Does the extra effort of slogging through snow mean I can get by with only three miles instead of four?
No doubt prompted by the staff meeting 12 hours earlier to brainstorm storm coverage ideas, the questions keep coming. Will I have to write another story about how there is virtually no sidewalk salt left in town? Or is the more appropriate story today about a rush on snowblowers and shovels, since ice melt isn't much good on a half-foot of snow?
I look around the Leeds streets I am traversing at 10-minute-per-mile pace (hey, slow since I don't want to fall) and see most side streets are unmarked by vehicle tracks. At 3:06 a.m., I hear a train whistle from a locomotive on the tracks just west of Floyd Boulevard. The questions start again. How do trains keep from sliding off tracks -- there is no guy out clearing railroad tracks of snow, right?
Will the trash I set out be picked up at the usual 5:30 a.m. time? (Close, 6:10 a.m.) Will the city crews do yeoman's work or are people on the mark when complaining about unplowed streets? (With 510 miles to address, they do a more-than-passable job.) What time will my street get plowed? Will I see people today, the ones obviously with no garages, who have only one-fifth of their windshields swiped off, peering out a hole to "see" the traffic around them? (Sadly, yes)
How will my coworkers living in outlying towns get to work? Aren't I glad I changed my Moville commute for living in the city? (Not really) Would it be easier to get around in winter if I traded the 14-year-old four-cylinder import for an SUV? Why does my wife .... (Well, let's not get too far into this stream-of-consciousness thing.)
Feeling the cold in my feet, my mind switches to homeless people in Sioux City. Where are they at 3 a.m. in a snowstorm? Shouldn't I have worked at the soup kitchen over the holidays? (Yes, Mr. Conscience.) Are there truly needy or physically challenged people who have a hard time when such storms hit? (Certainly) What about 80-year-old widows on fixed incomes, how do they get 10 inches of snow off sidewalks? (A great program operated by Siouxland Aging Services gives monetary assistance for such chores.)
Remembering reports there would be 5 to 8 inches of snow by morning, I wonder why forecasts are frequently so off. I ponder whether it is worth all the angst running around in a bread-buying, gas-filling frenzy right before storms. And why haven't I invested in a snowblower? After 25 years of shoveling my parents' and my own driveways and sidewalks, don't I deserve a snowblower? (Yes!) But could I even operate one? (Probably not!)
A few places still have twinkling Christmas lights out. In spite of the fact that I'm out in the middle of the street, I twice set off motion detectors back on garages. I travel down a street I'd previously "run" on and see my tracks -- can my strides really be that short?
I recall a colleague wondering who is it that invariably gets out to the malls and shopping centers in spite of snowstorms. Curious, I change course and head down to the 24-hour Wal-mart SuperCenter on Floyd Boulevard. At 3:49, a police cruiser is idling outside the front door. Inside, the male officer is chatting with the sole employee working checkout. He says it has been a quiet night around town; she says patronage dropped off drastically after 12:30 a.m., a much slower night than usual.
There are only two customers in the store, the clerk said, and most who had been in before were after bread, milk and ice melt crystals. She pointed to the last nine bags of ice melt in two carts -- prized items for which Sioux Cityans likely would pay 10 times the listed $1.96 price.
Stepping outside, I'm reminded there is a brisk north wind and it's not just 5 degrees out, with wind chill, it is minus 20. At 4:01 a.m., a man driving a black pickup going 15 mph rubbernecks at the bizarre jogger clad head to ankle in yellow. A minute later, a multi-ton caravan of steel and flashing lights passes. Three city plows head south on Floyd, one right behind the other with blades down and scraping up sparks, then turn together as well onto Outer Drive. I hope they eventually split up, to get more bang for the buck.
Are school superintendents in far-flung districts out making decisions on school cancellations? (Many will arise within the next hour to do so.) Isn't that a thankless job, to be responsible for deciding on a two-hour late start or whether to cancel entirely? And why do some schools call off classes to save their students a dicey 15-mile drive, and then pack up a basketball team and drive them 55 miles through the stuff for a game the same night? (No good reason I know.)
At 4:10 a.m., I spy the first garbage truck, which passes by on Floyd Boulevard. I can't see the dread on the faces of the workers for the task they are about to perform. At 4:17, I hear scraping again, only this time it is a solitary person out scooping snow by hand at Dental Depot. That makes for the only person I'll see outside a car. I witness about 30 cars driving the whole time -- only two on side streets, the rest on Floyd. I am the only jogger out.
Isn't it nice to be out in such a peaceful sort of snowfall, even with the bone-chilling temps? And won't it be worse a few hours from now, when we white-knuckle it into work on half-plowed roads and after the additional snow plops down?
Bret Hayworth may be reached at (712) 293.4203 or brethayworth@siouxcityjournal.com
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