Saturday afternoon in mid-March and the endless winter has finally begun to lose its bite. The temperature is a balmy 45 degrees and the sun (sun!) is shining. Staring out our dank apartment window, we can no longer resist the lure of the outdoors. So we turn off the TV, put the unopened beer back in the fridge, and lace up our dusty running shoes. The sidewalks are still a bit icy, yet the outer path around Lake of the Isles is in remarkably good shape. Sand has been laid down to keep the footing sure, and dodging the inevitable slush puddles becomes a welcome distraction from the sensation that at any moment we might cough up a lung. Smiling people clog the pathway like they've just been liberated from a four-month stint in the slammer. The snow-covered vista has a stoic beauty--made all the more appealing by the knowledge that it will soon be gone. And before we know it we're in the home stretch of the three-mile circuit, still breathing like a wounded mule heading up Mount Kilimanjaro, but feeling positively ecstatic. A few drops of sweat (sweat!) roll down our cheeks. They could just as easily be tears of joy. Never before has 45 degrees and sunshine felt like such a divine blessing. Those people in the Sun Belt don't know what they're missing.