Today’s race was cold….
Not “Florida cold” — not “throw on a long sleeve and complain” cold.
This was the coldest race I’ve ever run.
Snow flurries were drifting through the air at the start line — don’t really expect to this in Jacksonville — instantly setting the tone. The wind cut straight through every layer, and the cold stung in a way that made everything feel sharper and more serious.
It was 22 degrees, gusty, and unforgiving.
Once we got moving, the conditions demanded even more focus. Patches of ice lined parts of the course, forcing you to stay alert, adjust your stride, and watch every step. It wasn’t just about running fast — it was about running smart.
From the start, I felt steady. Controlled. Locked in. I settled into my pace and stayed there, mile after mile, averaging right around 8:05. Not chaotic. Not desperate. Just… strong.
And yes — the numbers matter too.
I crossed the finish line in 1:47:10, a 33-second PR.
It may not sound massive, but progress doesn’t always come in giant leaps. Sometimes it shows up as a quiet improvement earned in the cold, the wind, and the discipline to stay patient. And a PR — no matter how small — is still worthy of celebration.
What surprised me most wasn’t how my body handled the cold, the wind, or the icy roads — it was what my mind kept noticing.
Around mile 8, I felt it.
That extra engine rev.
That quiet “you could go” feeling in my legs.
And instead of pushing, I pulled myself back.
Not because I was struggling.
Not because I was fading.
But because somewhere along the way, I taught myself to be cautious — to protect the pace, to fear the blow-up, to play it safe even when the body says you’re ready.
The thing is… I finished the race not sore, not wrecked, not emptied.
I finished knowing — very clearly — that there’s more in me.
That realization feels just as important as any PR.
My coach said it plainly afterward: there’s another level there.
And I believe him.
Today wasn’t about squeezing everything out.
It was about discovering that I don’t have to be afraid of pushing harder anymore — even when conditions are far from ideal.
Snow at the start line.
Ice on the roads.
Cold that made everything feel raw.
And still — confidence.
Not loud confidence.
Quiet, grounded confidence.
The kind that says: I’m not done yet.
The kind that knows improvement is coming — not because I’m forcing it, but because I’m finally ready to trust myself.
And honestly?
That might be the best result of all. ❄️🏃♀️
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