The first 18 miles were run on the trail in 3 inches of fresh wet snow. I wore my best 'traction' shoes , a pair of Mizunos, that have a hole in the heel (austensibly for shock absorption). However that hole packed itself full again and again with fresh snow, converting my shoes into those sickening "fitness" shoes everyone is paying $40 for (the ones that look like a pair of teeter-totter wedges). The further I ran up the canyon, the fresher and fluffier the snow became; tauning me that I was plodding and slushing along on that fresh snow, instead of gliding over the top of it on skis. The run was so slow, labored, and unenjoyable, I ran back to the house utterly disgusted with myself. I vaguely enjoyed the solitude of the trail, the stillness of the windless morning, the fresh whiteness of the world or the solidarity I normally would have felt with the with the few brave other runners. I should have brought my dogs and called it a walk. I came in the house, changed out of my soaking wet gear and ran another 2 miles on the treadmill in my bra while crying; utterly exhausted, and dissapointed it took me 4 hours to run 20 miles. In retrospect, it was a hard run in the snow, a lot of canyon uphill, back up hill toward the cementary, etc. I don't know where all this negativity is coming from. But I am dissapointed with myself. | 