There are plenty of reasons for this. I don’t really like being wet, for one, and I haven’t yet figured out how to stay dry while swimming. I like to breathe how much I want and when I want, for another, and swimming cuts one’s ability to draw in air by half, at least.

So swimming has taken on the role of back up exercise for the back up exercise for the back up exercise. If I can’t run, I’ll bike. If I can’t bike, I’ll go cross-country skiing. If I can’t go cross-country skiing, I’ll head to the YMCA and swim some laps.

This winter I’ve found myself doing more and more laps, and it’s gotten to the point where I’ve found certain joys to swimming that can’t be found anywhere else.

There’s the fact that swimming offers an excellent whole body workout without any of the pounding some other exercises might exert on the body. One is wet, to be sure, but pools are temperature-controlled so the lap swimmer is never too cold to the point of shivering nor so hot so one’s head feels its about to explode. Swimming offers almost immediate, tangible results, in a more toned upper body and core.

(“Is that an ab that I’m seeing? No, it’s just a smear of chocolate ice cream. But still, there’s some definition in the shoulders there.”)

But my favorite thing about swimming is the rush that it provides. Because I’m not a great swimmer, I work hard to get from one end of the pool to another. That causes me to breath hard, often with every stroke, and splashing and thrashing about  gets the heart pumping. (I AM trying to refine my form, imitating the “how-to” videos that I’ve been watching on YouTube.)

This all typically gives me a light, airy feeling when I finish my 20 or so laps. I hang on the side of the pool, look up at the ceiling and feel the world turning around as my pulse rate slows. I know all the books on exercise and warning labels on stair climbers and the like say you’re supposed to “stop exercising immediately if you feel dizzy,” but this is a different feeling altogether.

This feeling is really one of the main reasons I continue to do anything at all. If I got the same sensation watching television, I’d spend all my waking hours watching reruns of “Gilligan’s Island.” (Thanks goodness for that feeling of self-loathing that comes over me at hour three in front of the television.)

This “high,” which scientists say comes from mix of natural mood-altering chemicals produced by the body during exercise, seems to be particularly acute after swimming.

I have no real clue why.

My personal theory is that it’s because you’re prone in the water, and blood does not need to fight gravity to be pumped into the nooks and crannies of the brain. (Theory only; no scientific evidence at all, like all my theories.)

Whatever it is, I like swimming  enough to squeeze my embarrassingly doughy body into a pair Speedos (the bik- shorts version of a lap swim suit; not the  banana-hammock version favored by some middle-aged Russian men) and jump into the water.

>>> The balaclava is a key piece of clothing for outdoor exercise sessions, whether biking, running, skiing or shoveling the driveway. The word is fun, but can be tricky to say. I always have difficulty with the spelling, so I’ve got to look it up in the dictionary whenever I use it. Which leads to … Fun balaclava fact: It’s named for a seaport in the Crimea, now part of Sevastapol,  probably because it was worn by soldiers in the Crimean War.

The balaclava is not to be confused with baklava, which is a terrific Greek/Middle Eastern dessert made with honey and a flaky pastry. Baklava is great no matter what the season.

>>> Cyclists yearning to form a peloton should seriously consider the Woodson YMCA’s Pedal It Forward fundraising event. It’ll be held from 12:30 p.m. to 3:30 p.m. on March 3 in the Wausau branch’s South Gym. It’s an indoor ride in which participants get pledges for their effort. People can use Y spin bikes, bring in their own bikes and indoor trainers or bring their own bikes and borrow a trainer provided by Sprocketz bike shop.

Entry fee is $25 for an individual if registered before Feb. 24. The money is used to pay for memberships, camps or other activities for families in need. Find out more at www.woodsonymca.com or call 715-845-2177.

The most interesting adventures in my life have started with the thought “I wonder what it would be like too ….” Once those words enter my mind, along with the accompanying visualizations, I’m usually on the path to either (relative) greatness or (relative) doom. Usually there is very little space for maneuvering between the making of an adventure or misadventure.

The mistake yesterday was to speak of this thought out loud in the office. “I’m considering going for a bike ride tonight.” The words nearly fell out of my mouth, and I immediately knew I had made a mistake.

There were the “why would you want to do that? You’re going to die” people. On the other side there were the “I dare you” kind of people. By announcing my intentions, I had closed the door on any choice I would have had, upping the stakes and putting on the line my entire reputation as someone who doesn’t let the weather rule his actions.

So I went for a ride, approximately six miles. It took about 40 minutes, about the same time it took to put on all the layers I wore.

On my feet I had sock liners, wool socks, cycling shoes and neoprene booties. On my legs, tights under running pants, both over wind-proof briefs (best purchase ever!). On my “core” I had a long sleeved running shirt, a snug wool jacket, a poofy Lands End vest and a windbreaker with reflective piping everywhere. I topped it all off with two balaclavas, a downhill ski helmet and ski goggles. Hands had gloves covered by leather mittens.

Because I am a cyclist, I also used chemical performance enhancements (winter version), those packets that are supposed to create warmth for seven hours when exposed to the air. I put one each in my mittens and shoes. I’m not sure they worked — they were body temperature when I finished the ride.

The ride itself was uneventful, and of moderate enjoyment. My toes got cold, but all other body parts were comfortable. It was pretty cool riding through the tundra, but I believe the cold had a detrimental effect on both the performance of my body and of the single-speed mountain bike I was riding. It felt as if I was cycling against the wind, until I turned into the wind. Then it felt I was riding against the wind and uphill. I kept checking to see if my tires had gone flat.

I have never ridden in colder conditions, and my curiosity about riding in sub-zero temps has been sated. I also believe I have found the limit of my cold tolerance. And that’s a good thing to know, right?

The training schedule, such as it is, called for a swim at the Woodson YMCA, but that plan was scrapped with the garbage. Especially when the predictions were calling for a deep cold snap starting Sunday, there was no choice but to do something outside.

There were three options as I saw them, each with its own list of pros and cons:

1. Take a walk, which is nice and relaxing, but always leaves me a bit itchy for more.

2. Take a bike ride, which would have been pretty comfortable with the balmy above-freezing temperatures. But the bike I ride in the winter is set up for cold and snow; it just seems clunky and slow in normal conditions, which is frustrating.

3. Go for a little jog, which meant breaking my promise not to run in the month of January. This running-fast is meant to promote the healing of some very sore Achilles tendons. Oh, but I was itching for a run, and if I ran really slow, it really wasn’t running, was it?

So it was decided. I would go for a walk, with short, slow bits of jogging thrown in. I walked the first block, then ran the second. It’s hard to describe how that felt, and for nonrunners, it’s probably hard to believe. But I hadn’t run since Dec. 22, and this block-long shuffle seemed like coming home.

I personally believe a human being has a deep-seated yearning to run that goes back to the caveman days, and even fat, old and slow people like me feel a bit more alive if they get past that initial getting-into-shape stage. I expected that old breathless, ugh-this-is-a-lot-of-work feeling when I started back jogging, but I went about 4 miles on Saturday, and it all felt great.

Most of Saturday’s run, admittedly, was walking. None of it was faster than a jog. I didn’t care. These were the first steps of a comeback, and even Buddy the Energetic Dog, who also has been suffering under the running-fast, could feel the potential of each step. He jumped and bounded and for a bit, in a closed off area, I let him off the leash. He ran ahead, then turned and ran back to me. He bucked happily when I slapped his chest. Then he tore off again.

Buddy on the run is joy personified, well, dog-ified. It’s long been my goal to “Run like Buddy,” that is, to run for the sheer pleasure of it.

On Saturday — even though I did not bound, did not run faster than a shuffle — I felt like I got there.

On Saturday, everything felt like it was going to be OK.

You’ll recall that a long-term Achilles ailment sidelined my running activities until Feb. 1, but that I vowed to stay just as fit by doing other alternatives that will allow the heels to heal.

I promised myself that I would be a regular at the YMCA pool. I would take winter bike rides. I would cruise the cross-country ski trails at Nine Mile County Forest Recreation Area.

All through this, I resolved — not a New Year’s Resolution, mind you, but a shorter term promise to myself — that I would not gain weight. There were even plans to lose a few extra pounds, so I would be both fit and trim when I went back to running.

My last official run was Saturday, Dec. 22. I did a three mile loop with my friend Tom from North Carolina, and it was one of the best runs ever.

Since then, I’ve gained about 5 pounds (Christmas cookies! Christmas candy! Christmas butter and cream!). I’ve found that it’s not so easy to replace running, which is really my baseline activity for fitness, with other exercise.

Biking in the winter is cold. Cross-country skiing needs an investment of an hour and 40 minutes, of which about an hour is only exercise. Swimming is, well, it’s swimming. The pool is often crowded, I’m self conscious, and the view of the bottom of a pool leaves much to be desired.

I’ve skied a couple of times, and it’s a lot of fun. Haven’t made it to the pool yet, but plan to get there tomorrow. (Or the next day.)

So it’s fallen to biking, despite the fact that conditions are cold and slippery, dark and dangerous. In the past two weeks, I’ve refined my clothing and equipment, and to be honest, I’m getting more comfortable with biking a half an hour to an hour in the pre-dawn hours.

The key, I’ve found, is goggles. I saw a guy snowblowing while wearing a pair of large downhill ski goggles. “Hey,” I thought,” I need to try that.”

I already had a downhill ski helmet and goggles, so I tried them while riding my winter bike, a single-speed mountain bike with aggressive lugged tires.

It was bike-life changing. Now my eyes don’t tear up and freeze shut. My ears are warm. And I look, I have to admit, really cool, sort of like a special ops warrior, except that I’m festooned with blinking lights and wear neoprene booties.

My nose gets squished, too, a small price to pay.

I’m finding that I’m thinking more and more about winter biking, so much so that I’m toying with the idea of saving my spare change to get one of those fat tire bikes. Steve Meurett, another WOF blogger, certainly makes it look fun here.

Despite the my resurgent interest in winter biking, I still miss the efficiency and simplicity of just going out for a run. Soon. Soon. Soon.

If you have regularly read this column over past few months (Hi Mom!), you know that I’ve been dealing with Achilles tendon troubles. A quick check through the newspaper’s archives showed that I’ve at least mentioned the injury in this space about five times since August. Although the pain has not been severe, it has dominated my mind for months, an obsession that has pushed away any normal thoughts.

I constantly stretch my calves when sitting at my desk, I’ve discussed it with my co-workers, talked to my doctor about it and even brought it up with strangers in stores. (Imagine what life is like for my wife.)

Although it has gotten better, I’ve been convinced, through the advice of a running mentor, to set aside running completely for a month. This coming from an ultramarathoner who ran through the pain of a hip spur. “Oh, the Achilles, that’s a tough one,” she said. “You need to really give it a rest.”

So, for the first time since I was 16 years old, when I started to run for track at Colby High School, I’ve been forced to suspend my running habit for more than a couple of days. Oh, I’ve stopped running for weeks, months, maybe even a year or two at a time, but those were choices made through laziness.

I may not look it, but I have become a consistent and avid runner, well, jogger, because I’m still heavy and slow. (It’s not running’s fault I’m fat; I just eat too much for the exercise to burn it all off.) But I have come, especially in the last year, to dearly love the sport. I like to ride a bike, I really enjoy cross country skiing, I tolerate swimming, but I thrive on running.

It’s not because of what it does physically, which is a lot, even though I’m chunky. But it’s because of what it does for me mentally and emotionally. Stress and worry evaporates while on a run, and thinking becomes clearer. I feel free on the run, and — dare I say it? — happy.

I went through a bout of relatively minor depression last January, and running with Buddy the Energetic Vizsla was a major factor of helping me pull through it. The depression may have minor, but I don’t want to go back there again, and I have come to view running as a key mental health medication.

So.

I’ve got to reframe my approach to mental and physical fitness for the next 31 days or so. I will be hitting the Y. Heading out to Nine Mile for cross country skiing (bring on the snow). Walking with Buddy. Bundling up for winter bicycle jaunts. And waiting, waiting, waiting until I can run again.

Keith Uhlig can be contacted at 715-845-0651 or kuhlig@wdhprint.com. Follow him on Twitter @UhligK.

When we first started going there, I was just simply overwhelmed and in awe of the city — scared of the subways, nervous about the buses, and enthralled with the sheer diversity and scope of the place. Most of that hasn’t changed in two decades, but city experience has dulled the intensity of those feelings.

For many years, I wanted to move to New York, particularly Manhattan. Of course, millions of others across this planet have the same thoughts, and which makes it one of the most expensive places to live on earth, so it never got further than the wishing phase.

But this trip things changed. I still loved going into the city, loved hiking in Hudson Valley, and even got a charge driving in traffic and catching the bus to and from The City. But I took a more critical view at living there.

Yes, traffic and bus catching is interesting if you’re visiting from Wausau, but would I want to deal with it every single day? Nope.

I also love to ride a bicycle for fun. There is plenty of biking in New York City, the suburbs are atrocious for the sport. The roads can be cool, up and down tree lined mountains, but there are no shoulders and the vehicles careen wildly around the corners. Basically, if you want to ride hard and fast for any length of time without having to stop at a light, you have to go to Central Park. That’s a cool place to ride, but I suspect it would grow too familiar after a week or so.

I love to run, too. New York has a great running culture, with the New York Marathon and all, but the problems are the same for running as they are for biking. Plus, getting in a quiet, cleansing run in fresh air is near impossible.

And I love to cross country ski. Well, fuhgetta bout it in New York. They rarely have snow that lasts for more than two days, and no ski trails that I know of.

So for me, New York is great place to visit. But Wausau is where I want to live.

Whew, I thought, because I was excited about the hiking/walking trips that we had planned. The urban hike consisted of meeting some friends and strolling on New York’s world-famous High Line. The High Line used to be an elevated freight railroad line that once goods through Manhattan’s Meatpacking District. Now it’s about a mile long walking trail/park/garden.

Our country hike was planned for the Hudson Valley, up Anthony’s Nose near the Bear Mountain Bridge, about 20 to 30 miles or so north of NYC. It’s a short hike, but almost all on the steep slope of the hills lining the Hudson River.

Both hikes were awesome, despite cloudy conditions and slight drops of rain.

My wife, Kris, grew up in New City, NY, one of the suburbs that mushroomed in the wake of World War II. We try to get back at least once a year to visit relatives. Hiking, both of the rugged backcountry variety along the Hudson and the urban variety in the city, is a must.

It’s ironic, that such an outdoor activity plays such a role in our trips to one of the world’s largest urban areas, but there it is.

We rarely see anyone when we do our Hudson River hikes. But last week we saw a bunch of people along Anthony’s Nose, which includes part of the Appalachian Trail. We saw two through-hikers, heading to Georgia, fit, and trim young men who walked down the slope with fast, confident steps. Their plan to start in the north, late in the season, and head south on the great trail, goes counter the prevailing through-hiking plans, which is starting in the south in the spring, and heading north.

Now, as I look at the weather maps, I wonder where they are and hope and pray they are OK. Judging from the pure competence those two guys exuded, I’m confident they are.

The High Line was amazing. I have visited NYC enough times now for the gee-whiz, golly-look-at-that effect of the city to have worn off. This trip into the city I was mostly annoyed at the sounds (jackhammers, horns blaring); smells (diesel smoke and urine) and the pure hustle and bustle. But the High Line took us about 30 feet above it all, and featured a lot of plants and trees. People stroll up there, and talk in a multitude of languages. There’s art and architecture and glimpses of the harbor.

It’s terrific.

The layoff was spurred by a longstanding  Achilles tendon injury that wasn’t terrible, but wasn’t getting any better. I biked and swam to make up for the loss. Just as I was ready to begin running again, last weekend, I came down with a flu-like illness that took me out of commission for several days. (Aaargh!)

I could tell that I recovering when I started to make ambitious long-term plans to get fitter, to improve my diet and to become a better all around person. If history is any indication, much of that will be forgotten once I become fully healthy and am back in a normal routine.

But I did get outside for about a half an hour for a 2-mile run/walk this morning. The first run after an illness or injury layoff is always a terrific one. For one, I’m never in as bad of shape as I think I will be. For two, there is something transcendent about the feeling that fresh blood is circulating through the body, and it just feels great.

Now the trick will be to build on the fitness that remains within me, but  hold back in a reasonable manner. My strategy, at least for the first few runs, will be to run slower than I want to, and run less than I want to.  Often I end up doing too much, too soon, and soon am right back where I began, hurt or sick.

The final feel-good piece of today’s run is the fact that I’ve been champing at the bit to get out there and jog. Often, after a layoff, I’ll have to force myself to head out the door, because I’d much rather stay inside, watch TV or sit by the fire.

It all reinforces my notion that running is my foundational tool for fitness, stress-relief and emotional well-being. I love cycling, and like swimming. But I gotta have running.

Before this year’s WRUT (that stands for Wausau Rotary Ultra Trek), members of the Rotary Club reached out to the region’s trail-running organizations to market the race. It seems to have a positive impact, since last year only 107 runners participated.

The thing that makes the WRUT special — Rib Mountain — also can make the race a difficult sell.

The slope of the north face of the hill is plenty long and really steep.  If you ran or walked up that slope, you’ve done something. Doing it several times over the course of four hours, and you’ve done A LOT of something.

There’s a certain breed of runner who just enjoys finding ways to create a new kind of pain, and that’s the kind of athlete who revels in the WRUT.

But the  idea of running up and down Rib Mountain also may spook plenty of runners who might take a more balanced, sane approach to the sport. But here’s the deal. While the WRUT can’t ever be called easy, it also doesn’t have to be as difficult as people imagine it to be.

The WRUT offers several race categories. Teams of one to four people can compete in the WRUT relay, in which they try to complete as many 2-mile loops as possible. There is a two-hour version for solo competitors. And there are two different 5-k options, one steeper and more difficult, the other one challenging, but more moderate.

A few weeks ago, one of the event’s organizers, Patrick Bradley, took me out on the WRUT course to show me some of the courses’ highlights. We were accompanied by Mark Thuot, 42, of Hatley and Jeff Smail, 42, of Wausau, both avid WRUT runners, and members of the Hillbillies, the team that went on to win the four-person race.

Thuot and Smail had been training on the mountain, and they clipped up the slope with quick piston strides. Patrick, 52, of Wausau, was less comfortable on the steep parts of the hill and hobbled a bit by a hip injury, but he still vastly outpaced me in the endeavor.

I thought I was in good shape, but the hill is humbling. We reached a particularly steep juncture in the course, and I was determining whether I wanted to try running it at all. I needed to get back to work, I told the guys.

“It’ll take five minutes,” Mark said.

Well, I said, maybe I’ll just run halfway up, just to see what it’s like.

Mark argued that if you go halfway, you might as well go all the way, the sort of logic fit runners often make. He was right, I thought, and I shuffled slowly up the hill. My breathing came hard and heavy, and I slowed to a dragging shuffle, but continued on.

When I got to the top, I turned around, and looked at all of Wausau sprawled in front of me, and I got a runner’s rush of accomplishment and light-headedness, the good kind.

Patrick, Mark and Jeff talked about how different people approach the WRUT. Some attack it with military-like planning, like Mark and Jeff. Some set goals, like Patrick. “I just want to run up this without stopping,” he said, gesturing to the slope.

He did.

Others walk, they said. As the race progresses, they say it becomes less of a competition than a kind of athletic  festival, and even though teams compete against each other, it’s really comes down to everybody against that piece of 1.7-billion-year-old chunk of quartzite.

I wasn’t able to compete in this year’s WRUT,  due to a combination of injury and work, but I hope to be able  participate next year, the first Saturday in October. The Rotary Club plans on putting this race on for years to come — “for the rest of your life,” as Patrick said.