While the Scots have more than 400 words describing types and conditions of snow, by this time of year, I only have one. And that one isn’t printable. I enjoyed winter for the first frigid months by cross-country skiing and snowshoeing. But by mid-March, I am ready to tie up a new pair of running shoes and hit the road. I am grateful for what the Scots call the beginning of a thaw.

This spring ritual began in middle school, so I’ve been at it for 45 years. While the first tentative runs might start with the old shoes, the season officially begins with a fresh pair of new treads. Mine arrived in the mail from Confluence Running, a great small business that used to employ my oldest daughter. With the shoes came a thank you note from the owners Matt and Jenna Gowers (also owners of Ruthie’s Run). While the message details their personal lives and charity work, it is also, oddly enough, a bit inspirational. After all, if I push this decrepit body out the door to run, I also do good by supporting their business.

No matter how slow or old a runner you are, new shoes are nothing short of miraculous. Lacing them up, rocking back and forth — for those first beautiful moments, there is the illusion of speed. The promise of a new season is echoed by the scent of thawing earth, birdsongs and the new slant of the sun. This is the year you’ll be faster, train better, lose weight. Antelopes and gazelles have nothing on you.

Like a New Year’s resolution, these plans fade. After a few miles, plow horses are now your spirit animal, but even they seem fast. Chickens, maybe … no. Penguins! And then you remember the Penguin Chronicles.

For 18 years, Runner’s World Magazine featured the Penguin. Not the evil character battling Batman in DC Comics, but rather a slow runner reporting on life from the back of the pack. From 1996 to 2014, John Bingham shared his column. From the beginning, he differentiated between types of runners: the eagles were elite, and the sparrows trained and analyzed, determined to improve their times. Then there were the rest who plodded along mile after mile for various reasons — these were the penguins. And over time, nationwide, John Bingham became their skipper. As he put it, Each column would end with his tagline:

At the time, I was young and an aspiring sparrow. As such, I couldn’t relate to a lot of his wisdom. But his columns were funny, so I always read them. And in the arrogance of youth, I never thought that someday I might be part of the huddle.

This period was also when I would be insulted if someone referred to my workouts as jogging. my mind would silently correct them.

Those days are gone. Currently, someone might off-handedly remark, when in reality I was out for a morning run. In response, I can only hope they saw me waiting to cross a street and that it wasn’t a reflection of my pace.

To be honest, even that comment has ceased to be annoying. After all, in the words of John Bingham, the Penguin himself,

So, waddle on, fellow penguins.