The trees are white, the grass is white, the bushes are white, and the trail is white. Or rather, there is no trail to be seen. Everything is pristine white. The only thing there is to see, are my footsteps in the snow.
I think I was 18 years old, when I did my first run in the snow. I was staying over at my girlfriend’s house. When I woke up, the whole world outside was white. To her big surprise, I immediately put on my running gear and went for a run.
Smile on my face
Even to her bigger surprise, I came back with a big smile on my face. How could anybody go for a run in the cold and enjoy it?, she wondered. I couldn’t say, and I still can’t, but there is something magical about running in the snow, through the fields and in the forest.
The world suddenly looks new. Undiscovered. It feels like you’re going where no man has gone before. As if those first footsteps in the snow are the first steps ever set on new territory. But maybe that’s just me. Maybe I just have a big imagination.
I’m Dutch. We don’t get a lot of snow. That’s what makes it extra special when the world is white outside, like this morning. Maybe it is not a thick layer, but it’s enough to cover everything around me.
So I’m out early again. Late enough for the morning light to be there, early enough to run through this perfect white world. Although this morning my footsteps aren’t the first in the snow, as I’m running with Bruni, the dog of my parents. So her footsteps are first, mine are second, but that’s good enough for me.