In Manchester today, it was a gripping 6 degrees for the vast majority of the day.
I have not run two days consecutively in several weeks. Today was judgment day.
Though I initially had planned to bear the burden of the gnawing cold, feeling the lashes of wind-chill. This was initially planned as an easy, conquerable 3 miles.
I folded. I lacked a cover for my head. Thus was born my adventure indoors.
The very nature and design of a treadmill is unnatural. It draws your legs away from you, forcing you to overcome what ought to be natural responses by your neuromuscular system. In short, a treadmill is a false light of the running solaces.

I began at what one might call a trot, which then developed to a gallop, which evolved to a steady state run, which then created symptoms of mild euphoria, culminating in a state of ecstasy.
While cognizant of the fact that I was indoors, I felt strangely free of this mechanized droid.

At the conclusion of 6 miles at Zone 5 pace for the last 10 minutes, I felt renewed, but I also felt accomplished. This pace I had not seen in many weeks. At a peak of 6:40, it is reminiscent of cross-country.

I abandoned the elements, for a more civilized, domesticated form of cardio-respiratory stress. I invested in the artificial medium of greater illumination

Empirically, all you need is time to find your space in false light.