January 2026
First I wanted to know whether I could run in -20C. Then if so, I wanted to know what it felt like.
I was wide awake from 5am with jetlag on the first morning in Cincinnati. That decided it – today would be the day. I’d originally thought the second morning looked the best bet, and would give me enough time to warm to the idea and build up enough motivation to actually get out of the door. But here I was, opportunity knocked, and before I could persuade myself otherwise the decision was made.
I layered up three tops, two of them the much-missed Iffley Road merino wool. A hat and good gloves. Both leggings and shorts, with socks over the outside for a better seal. I was in two minds about whether to bother with a scarf, and was grateful I did as it proved a godsend. It made a significant difference wrapped over the bottom of my face, protecting my mouth from the cold air and creating a sensation of warmth when I breathed out into it.
I was fully prepared to step out of the door and knock the idea on the head right away if it was too cold to handle. But initially I didn’t freeze. Some parts of the pavement were salted, though I was wary of ice, and in other places I had to trudge through deep snow. Initially it was nothing short of exhilarating to be out in this weather, adrenaline pumping, living a new experience. The snow on the ground, the darkness before dawn, the city lights.
There were five blocks between me and the riverfront. The road crossings were slow, punctuating my progress and preventing any rhythm taking shape. Kicking my legs and clapping my hands, I waited repeatedly for the Walk sign. I crossed West Mehring Way and now could really take off: here was the Ohio river trail, entirely clear of snow, set off beautifully against the John A. Roebling suspension bridge. I couldn’t believe my luck to have this path and this view, not a soul about, sheets of ice on the river by the shore.
The advantage of the trail was I could now run much more quickly, which I needed after the stuttering start. The disadvantage was I no longer had the shelter and residual heat of the city buildings. And it has never been clearer to me how exposure time is the key factor in extreme weather. I was soon running quickly, but conscious that I was running short of time.
It was my fingers. The pain started without warning, increased dramatically, and within minutes the tips felt frozen and brittle. It felt as if they would crack and snap off. An image came to mind of Hans Castorp’s disturbingly fast progression from cold to delirious in the blizzard in The Magic Mountain. I was acutely aware that I had no experience of this weather, and needed to respect it. I’d hoped to run 5k but cut my losses; safety first is easier when the pain is mounting.
On the way back I had no compunction about jaywalking. I just needed to get back as fast as I could, the finger pain compelling me. It was a great relief to get inside the doors of the hotel to warmth. The excitement returned, the delight in a new experience. But there was a sting in the tail. As they warmed up, my fingers turned red and started burning intensely. A different variety of pain to that outside. We used to call it chilblains, whether medically correct or not.
Thankfully it was just a few minutes to endure. And the silver lining was it sparked a memory of a snowy morning at infant school. I used to get dropped off early on my Mum’s way to work, and would play with B in the playground before the bell rang. We came in that day with cold fingers and snow-soaked gloves, both of which we placed on top of the cast iron radiator in the classroom. Hope springs eternal, barely any heat came out of that apparatus. Soon a throbbing sensation started and the fingers turned red. One of my few memories of infant school, teased out almost 50 years later by 20 degrees below.