The winter of my 10th grade year, through the winter of 61-62, was crucial to my development as a runner, was in Great Falls, Montana. The sub 0 down to 40 below temps were a shock when moving there from California sunshine, and the track was covered by a foot of snow. All that could be seen when viewing from the fourth story of the school, was a broad field full of snow, and no track. In addition to my excursions through the streets and hallways, however, I wanted to run on the track.
Heavily bundled up, I managed to find the inside curb, and trudged around the foot deep snow, marking the outline with my footprints, then each lap being able to trudge a bit faster, until a path was worn. It was cold, but I trimmed down to my shorts, singlet and spikes, timed myself for a hard mile, it was cold, barely managed to dress again before freezing to death, then made my way home, realizing that dressing like California was a really bad idea, and quite dangerous too.
A few days later I came out of study hall and kids were flocking to the end of the hallway. I looked out the window and someone yelled, hey look! someones been running on the track! All that was visible was the outline of the track, in the midst of a huge expanse of white snow, and I was quite proud of myself.