A cold week. Temperatures dipped to minus five. The kind of cold that clings to your fingers even after you have come inside, where your breath hangs thick in the air and no number of layers feels quite enough. It is on these mornings, the early ones, the running ones, where you cannot seem to warm up, no matter how fast you move.
Saturday was back to the soccer grind. A familiar criss cross across Canberra, trying to be in the right place at the right time with kids, gear, and snacks in tow. The weather brought that classic Canberra winter charm, clear blue skies, sun bright and clean, just enough radiant warmth to feel pleasant if you stayed out of the shade.
Sunday run day is always a highlight. This one felt special. Runna had scheduled a fourteen kilometre progressive long run, and with the fog settled low and the temperature just above freezing, I stepped out into a silent winterland. Fourteen kilometres felt exciting, the longest I had run since January. My distances are definitely shorter this year, but my consistency has become my strength. Week in, week out. That’s the story.
The progressive nature of the run meant building pace every three and a half kilometres. I knew it would push me, and I was keen for it. It was not until the final stretch, aiming to hold a four minute forty five pace, that I started to struggle. I gave it a red hot crack, but could not quite hold on. Even the new Adidas kicks with the built in speed rods couldn’t help. Still, I didn’t give up. And with scenery that good, soft morning light on frosted fields, tree branches dripping crystal, the silence of breath in cold air, it was hard to focus on pace anyway. Some runs are meant for more than numbers.
I came home chuffed. The kind of satisfied that settles into your shoulders. That warm shower after the cold effort wrapped around me like a cocoon. Small ritual. Big reward.
The rest of the week drifted back into rhythm. Gym. Easy runs. Tempo and intervals. Kids pickups. Soccer training in the dark. The cold mornings continued to hit hard, minus five, again. You can feel the body working overtime just to stay warm. Layers upon layers, and still the cold finds its way in. Then the mist, mixing with sweat, turns your sleeves clammy and your breath sharp. You end up feeling like a slightly damp icicle by the end.
An aching Achilles and the lingering hangover from last week’s cold had taken their toll earlier in the week. I felt slower, heavier, and a little more reluctant than usual. Even simple sessions asked more of me. Everything required a longer warm up. My body felt like it was negotiating with itself just to get moving. But the mornings. God, the mornings. Stunning. When the dark lifts and the suburb reveals itself in slow motion, covered in frost and quiet, it still takes my breath away. Makes me love this place.
Still, I can feel the solstice creeping closer. The light shrinking. The dark stretching its fingers further into the day. That winter quiet, not just in the air, but in people too. Friends hibernating. Conversations thinning out. Plans being postponed until the weather warms. It is a time of low light and low energy. I would be lying if I said it does not get to me sometimes.
There is a subtle heaviness that settles in this season. I am sure it is some form of seasonal affective disorder, or at least a mild longing for brighter days. The days feel short, the sunshine brief, and my mind drifts to the idea of warm homes, warm food, warm company. I miss the easy hangouts, sitting around with friends, sharing stories about the kids latest hijinks, comparing work war stories, talking about everything and nothing. I crave that warmth more than ever. Not just from heaters and cups of tea, but from people. Shared time. Laughter that steams up cold windows.
Work took a sudden turn. Tuesday, midday, I got the message: Can you step into the director’s office? Never a favourite sentence. A little panic pinged through me. We had just launched a project I was proud of, something that had gone well, landed right. But the mind still goes to worst case scenarios. Is this it? Am I about to be let go? Another restructure? Another budget cut? Am I cursed? I have seen it before. Too many times. A trail of change and collapse following close behind.
The conversation started off okay, and I sat there hoping it stayed that way. You have done a great job. The budget is not what we hoped for. But… we have fought to keep you.
Relief. Not the kind you cheer about, but the kind that makes your knees weak for a moment. I would be moving into a new team, starting again in some ways, but better than polishing the resume and getting back out there, trying to market myself in a cold, transactional job market.
Later in the week I found out more. I would be moving into a solution management role. Helping to design systems. Solving problems. Talking with stakeholders. Work I love. A little higher up the chain, a bit less tangled in the weeds. A chance to think more creatively. A role with room to stretch out in.
By Friday, I felt something unexpected… lightness. Gratitude. Not the loud kind. Quiet, steady, warm. The kind that wraps around you at the end of a cold week and whispers, you are still here.
Musically, I have been searching for inspiration. Finding solace in random YouTube mixes, chosen by the algorithm. Not my usual style. I prefer to dig deep for things I love. But when this one popped up, it seemed strange enough to give it a whirl. “Chill mix with Japanese grandpa at a stationery shop”… okay, you have got me. Who DJs in a stationery shop with their grandpa grooving in the background?
Part of me is clearly searching for anything Japan related, and this nailed it. Chill in some parts, but picks up in sections to keep it interesting. Before I knew it, I was dancing in my office chair. Highly recommended.
Until next week.