Not afraid, thankful.

When I first moved to New York I was terrified of snowplows. I had a real fear. The enormous orange or yellow monsters that chewed up the snow and spewed out salt sent me running for the nearest snow bank. The lights, the double plows, the sound of metal scrapping pavement all made me cringe and want to stay inside cowering under my blankets. For a Georgia girl, a snowplow was an unknown beast. I hated driving behind them or beside them, scared that my car would be snowplow victim like the white ice it was consuming. The snowplow line on the thruway where snowplows united and formed a diagonal eating up every bit of snow they could find made me want to forget my trip and head the other direction.

Nine years later and two months into a West Virginia winter, my opinion of snowplows has greatly improved. After seven snow days and more two hour delays than I care to count, I have yet to see a snowplow meander through the hilly streets. I was informed the other day by a coworker that there are 12 snowplows in the county and only six drivers. Gone are the New York days, where the weather dips below freezing and an army or yellow orange descends on the streets. Gone are the days of washing off the salt caked to your car. Gone are the days where you pray for a snow day, but know you won't get one because it didn't snow three feet between 3 and 5 a.m. Gone are the days of running on the shoulder of the road in the winter, or running on the road much at all.

Welcome to Morgantown where it snows, melts, freezes, snows, melts, freezes, snows, melts, freezes... Welcome to a world without any snowplows. Welcome to a world where schools are closed for 1/2 inch of snow. Welcome to a world where drivers are paralyzed by the thought of a snowflake. Welcome to Morgantown where a snowplow is as elusive as Big Foot.

Tomorrow it is supposed to snow again--two inches. Perhaps I'll have a sighting of the thing I once feared. Instead of feeling afraid however, I'll breathe a sigh of relief and feel thankful.

An update...Shocking...

Nearly every marathon runner will tell you that the most important part of training is the long run. Time on your feet is invaluable as you adjust from running a few miles to 26.2 I decided to run my first marathon during my senior year of college. A mediocre college sprinter, I was determined to conquer longer distances with the ultimate goal to qualify for the Boston marathon. My original decision to run a marathon was a group effort. One of my roommates and my close friend Jaynie talked about running, but it was Jaynie and I who put in the miles and completed the race. We slowly built up our long run from six miles to twenty. Hour after hour we ran through all of the back roads around Houghton, New York.

My friendship with Jaynie began the year before I started attending college on a mission trip to Tanzania. We bonded while hiking through the mountains sleeping in tents, "bathing" in buckets and eating canned foods. I don't think either of us imagined that we would be friends ten years later.

Two years ahead of me in school, Jaynie has done everything "first"--marriage, kids, a dog, a house, but I've been around for each decision. During our first marathon training, our long runs were our time to hang out. Jaynie's husband diligently drove around and brought us water every five miles as we ran through the snow, the rain and once in a while sunshine. She is always strong in the beginning and I don't hit my stride until about mile fourteen. We're a perfect running pair. Our first marathon was a success as we both finished in respectable times. We ran at our own pace and felt good about the effort as we looked to the future.

When I graduated from Houghton, I moved about an hour away from Jaynie--a manageble distance and we planned our next race. Philadelphia. Again, we ran our own pace, finished and looked to the future. A 50k on Long Island. This race I ran solo. Jaynie broke her ankle five weeks before the run and I struggled through the remaining weeks of training and the race on my own. I was frustrated, bored and lonely but running well after it was over. With a couple of marathons under my belt I decided to seriously try to qualify for Boston. Jaynie, pregnant, was not able to train with me but I still drove to Houghton every weekend to hang out with my boyfriend (now husband) Andrew. I barely qualified for Boston and Jaynie was the first person I called after the finish line.

With babies on the way, Jaynie had to hang up her running shoes for a couple of years. I ran Boston, saw Jaynie hours after the birth of her first son, got married (Jaynie was my matron of honor) and ran a half marathon. My running felt purposeless and I missed my most consistent partner. I missed my friend. Without long runs to connect on, I felt our friendship slipping away. After her second baby was born, the running bug hit Jaynie again. Four months later we ran together again--a half marathon. I was so proud of my friend and she wanted to do more. Another marathon was in our future a few months later in Harrisburg. We ran a few long runs together as we made the trek back and forth between Buffalo and Houghton. Running felt complete again as we were able to share our weeks.

Harrisburg we ran together. It was her race. Her "post-baby" marathon. Not our fastest race, but the most rewarding. We looked to the future. A 50k in early spring in Virginia was our goal. Week after week we trudged through our long runs in snowy western New York. Every weekend brought a new challenge, but every weekend was wonderful. Our friendship grew as we talked about work, running, and family. My life was undergoing huge changes as Andrew applied to law school and our future was uncertain. We both knew that it could be our last chance to really run together. We finished the 50k and loved almost every second of it.

Andrew and I moved to Morgantown. Beyond a new place to live, moving meant that long runs with Jaynie would end. Once we arrived in Morgantown, I was frustrated with the running scene. Unfamiliar roads make me nervous, hills are hard and I missed my friend. Perhaps missing Jaynie is what motivated me to sign up for a 50 miler (and persuaded her to do the same).

Over Christmas break Jaynie and I ran two long runs together. One run she felt strong, one run I felt strong. We laughed, were miserable, and talked for hours--it was like putting on a favorite sweatshirt.

Break is now over and as I stare at my training schedule I feel a bit sad. Week after week of twenty mile runs without Jaynie. Week after week of pounding the trails with my dog and my Ipod--but not my friend.

Yes, the long run is the most valuble part of training but for Jaynie and I, it's value goes beyond the miles as it builds our friendship. For now we'll settle for calling each other after our runs and head out the door so that we don't let each other down. At least a 50 miler is long...we'll have plenty of conversation stored up for the day!