Saturday was my first ten miler, but I’m in a foréign city (the é is for proof) where I know only one person. He is not a runner. After confirming that I really, really couldn’t skip this run, even though it was a beautiful day for seeing Quebec and I was still working off some St. Patrick’s day damage, he pointed me to the Plaines d’Abraham. This is French for the Windy Icy Frostbite Death Hills of Abraham. Sadly my French is patchy at best, so I bounced off towards the park with wholly unfounded optimism about fresh air and exploring a new place and other assorted bullshit.

After about two minutes I realized the trails were 90% covered in very slick ice. I nearly wiped out at least three times just looking for a place to run. Finally I settled on the main drive through the park, which was only snowy at the margins. Since I had no way of telling how far my route would go, I just assumed ten minute miles and planned to run for and hour and forty minutes. After what felt like three quarters of that time I checked a phone box, only to find I’d been running for a mere forty minutes. So then I ran for an hour more.

It was cold, and I had to keep running by the same things because of all the ice, but overall it wasn’t actually horrible. I ran at my own pace, which is a bit slower than I run with the Saturday group, and although I was tired and a little uncomfortable at the end, I could have kept going. Not for another sixteen miles, but maybe for another two. Which, for the moment, I feel pretty good about. And now I don’t have to go that far again for a whole week. Wahoo.