Frozen Articulators

Thanksgiving was fun this year: we discussed meditation and danced to "Can't Touch This". Or, at least I danced to "Can't Touch This". I want MC Hammer pants, now. The only mishap was the inside of my oven bursting into flame. I amused the panicked masses by opening the oven door and blowing out the flames, like a giant birthday cake. We did have to open the windows for a few minutes, though; and it was pretty chilly out.

How's that for a segue? Because what I really want to comment on today is how it felt to try running fast while feeling my lungs crystallize. I pre-registered for the Cottonwood Heights 5k last week, observing that the average temperature for this day is 37 degrees. How would it be to run wearing nothing but tights and a sports-bra? And to actually sweat? To visualize my heated muscles loosening as they powered up the big hill? But it was 9 degrees, so instead the only vision available to me was of myself plunging desperately across the snow-crusted tundra; stumbling as a howling wolf pack, their breaths steaming, close in upon my helpless form. Hey, whatever gets me through.

Two undershirts, lucky shirt, two hoodies. Stocking cap, neck gaiter. I know my pain points: fingers, thighs, back of neck. Not much I could do about the back of my neck, but I put Hot Fingers in my gloves and pinned one to the inside of each pant-leg so they pressed against my quads. If I could have, I would have taken 400 Hot Fingers and pinned them together to make a body-suit. Think chain-mail.

Then came the tough moment at the Start line. Unable to run wearing all that shit, I decided to ditch a hoodie. Neck gaiter? Or no neck gaiter? Aw, I'll be fine. Ditch the neck gaiter. So I lined up with 1,800 other idiots. First my lips went numb. I would try to purse my lips a little to blow air out and after a bit, they just stopped paying attention. Next it was the tongue. Bye, bye tongue! See you later! I tried sort of tucking it under itself. It's really hard to swallow your tongue and run at the same time. Are you imagining me with my tongue lolling uselessly out of my mouth like a demented cow? Maybe that's how I looked; but I have no idea, since I couldn't feel a damn thing. But then my uvula (you know, the dangly thing in the back of your throat) also checked out. That was new... The second I crossed the Finish line, I slapped my hand over my mouth to warm up the air I was breathing. Talk to me! Talk to me! Wake up, lips! Can you hear me?

I went back to the rec center to warm up a little before I tried to call Si, but even then, I got on the phone and said, "aiunycamimuh?" [Translation: "Hi, Honey, can you pick me up?"] Home into a hot shower; cup of tea; cozy sweater. No good. I've got almost no voice at all. Glottal frost-bite: who knew?