Evan Melnyk





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“The afternoon is an anomaly: a low of -22℃ and not yet November, with twenty centimeters of snow seemingly thrown to the ground in a single night two days prior. The nearby mountains endured twice as much. They glimmer white just outside of town, their many paths slicked, powdered, and covered clean. It is winter in the first half of fall. Just over two weeks ago, we had sun and a high of 27℃. Now, I worry how the cold might scorch my lungs.”
words x north bennett
illustrations x evan melnyk
A piece that focuses on the ritual and routine of running.
Posted here on the Ciele Athletics Journal.
“The sun lowers. The shade deepens. I go back and forth. My mind tires of remarking and relaxes into the quiet. The first snow always carries with it a certain stillness, a pristine sense of renewal. The winter will continue to refresh itself. The snow will reflect light even after dark. Now and in the months ahead, I will keep running, churning up heat in the cold. And although fatigue can make a brick out of each footstep—slub clump slub clump—today my feet still feel lively. I focus on relaxing my shoulders, smoothing my stride. Long winters are made of days like this one.

At last, I angle into the final crosshatch, the sun setting behind me. The road ahead shines yellow and gold. I aim toward a closed exit gate, jump it, and look at my watch. It’s only been an hour. The day is too nice to stop. I run past the cemetery and back toward the sun.”