So How's Your Weekend Going?

This story begins on Wednesday in northern Massachusetts, when it was 60 degrees and raining. The story isn't over yet.

It rained nonstop from Wednesday to Friday morning. Very early Friday, around 3 a.m., I woke up to hear Brian bumbling around the house with a flashlight. The power was out. I wasn't worried because the power went out a couple weeks ago and came back in a few hours. He said he was hearing freaky noises--crashing noises. He couldn't see anything weird in the house so he came back to bed.

When we got up Friday morning, the house was frigid--still no power. We built a fire in the fireplace and I sent Brian down to the road to see what was up. Trees down across the road to the left, and a power line down across the road to the right. Not good.

This was the backyard.


Ugh.

Our neighbor intimated it would be days before the lines were repaired, so after Brian drove out to find coffee (yes, across the downed line and several others along the way), I went to find a hotel. Our town looks like a tornado blasted through. The rain overnight froze on the trees and the weight of the ice coupled with the wind brought down branches, entire trees, and the power lines they fell on. We were fortunate that nothing fell on our house, but we lost power, heat, water, phone, and cell service.



The thing is, a devastating ice storm looks and smells beautiful, like winter on crack. The smell of pine and sap is thick and the crisp air is cleansing to inhale. Neverless, we were disempowered and displaced.



I found a hotel on the other side of our town that had power, booked a room, and came back home to fetch the boys, who were letting the fire burn down. The hotel has a great gym that I used to belong to, so I was actually pretty upbeat at this point. I knew I could keep some normalcy just by keeping my running routine alive, and the hotel would be like a mini-vacation for Henry.

At home, I packed the most essential things: Garmin, running clothes, gels (I had a long run to do), and maybe some clothes for my kid. I grabbed a bottle of rum--wouldn't want to let that go bad--and a box of cookies, and we were all set.

We got to the hotel around noon and by 1:30, my watch was charged. The good and bad of running is that you can do it anywhere, so living out of a hotel, ice falling like shattered light bulbs, and power lines dangling from the sky like vines, I thought it would be a perfect time to do my long run.

Fourteen miles with the last three miles sub-MP later, I was back at the hotel. I didn't electrocute myself or fall victim to any crashing trees, but a couple cars in front of the hotel nearly hit me. Figures.

I walked back into the lobby very happy with the run (despite the persistent arch pain) and saw something I was not happy to see. Lights out. Good God. Back in the room, I was told the power had shut down 10 minutes before.

We scrambled for a Plan B (C?) and after an early, MSG-rich dinner at the first restaurant we saw with electricity, we were back at the hotel to pack up our stuff. We decided that Brian needed to keep the home fires burning, quite literally, so the pipes wouldn't freeze. Henry and I dropped him off for a cold, dark prison sentence in our house, and Brian spent a loooooooooooong night without any contact with the outside world. He read and dozed and chucked logs on the fire from 7 p.m. to 10 a.m., when Henry and I drove back from our Plan C lodging in Somerville to liberate my scruffy, sleepy husband. I couldn't believe there was actually rum left in the bottle I'd donated to Brian for the night.

Saturday morning, I'd called the plumber from the road and he met us at the house to drain the pipes so Brian wouldn't have to spend another 48 hours imprisoned in our living room. While the plumber charged us God-knows-what for Saturday emergency service, Henry packed more clothes and we assaulted the utility crew at the bottom of the driveway with doughnuts and questions.


They knew nothing in terms of when power would be restored and had not seen damage like this in their 30 years of work for the power company. They appreciated the doughnuts, however.

I took Saturday off from running. Instead, I ate at Dunkin Donuts, MacDonald's, and Red Bones, a great bbq joint in Somerville.

After the pipes were drained and the house winterized, we considered hopping a plane to Florida for a month, but opted to stay closer to home. We spent another night in Somerville, where poor Henry reached the pinnacle of his disorientation after spending two days at home-hotel-home-Somerville-home-Somerville.



So we're still in Somerville, where Henry is tormenting a cat and playing princess. And we're drinking rum. I can't wait to feel empowered again.

To be continued...