Running through the remnants of a bomb cyclone

Like many of my friends and neighbors, I was watching the late winter weather this week and wondered how bad the weather would be and what we were in store for as a powerful storm formed off the eastern seaboard and rumbled north. 

I watched as forecasters described the effects of a low-pressure cold front and then again as they tried to explain exactly what the term “omega-block” would mean to those living in our state. I’m no Al Roker, but it seemed pretty simple to me. 

“We were going to get a fair amount of wind and rain, and depending on where you lived, maybe even some snow.” 

My question was, “would I have to start the generator?” 

Thankfully the answer was no, and as the storm followed the track once taken by the Scotia Prince (yes, I do remember the ferry that traveled for 20 summers from Portland to Nova Scotia) I wondered what the weekend weather would be like. After all, Saturday was a running day. 

Fortunately, for the most part, we were spared from worst of the weather. 

By Saturday morning, the wind in Portland had died down a bit, but as my brother once said to me when describing a choppy sea and the whitecaps that accompanied it, “there were plenty of sheep on the pond.” 

I thought running around Portland’s Back Cove would be fairly tame, but the only real question was head to the left or to the right, and I knew that either way, I would be fighting a stiff headwind at times and then I’d have a helping hand as the wind pushed me along. 

It was then that I remembered the other terms forecasters used when describing the weather pattern that passed by, “bomb cyclone” or “winter hurricane.” 

Not that one sounded any better than the other, but the idea of trudging along through the last of the bomb cyclone seemed like the type of adventure I would like. I was right. 

The wind was steady and to this untrained forecaster, it seemed like it was blowing about 15-20 mph with occasional bursts where it nearly pushed me off the track I was trying to follow. 

It wasn’t that cold (probably in the low 40s) but with all that wind it seemed that much colder. I lowered my head and leaned forward as I fought against the headwind and as I rounded the halfway point in the run, the wind was suddenly turned and like a protective parent, it pushed me toward home. 

I passed a few other hardy runners on the trail and almost to a person, each one smiled and laughed as we exchanged a quick and knowing wave. This wasn’t so bad and we were outside again I for one was grateful that were able to complete the loop. 

Tomorrow is the Irish Rover Road Race, another day, another adventure. 

Stay tuned – as always, if I think it’s interesting, I’ll write about it.

Thanks again for reading my stories and as always, you may purchase my novel, Homecoming: A Soldier’s Story of Loyalty, Courage, and Redemption at your local, independent bookstore or online:, or

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David Arenstam

About David Arenstam

Originally from away, but here to stay - Maine is my home and I love writing stories about the people and places from my end of the state. I am a teacher and writer and my first novel, "Homecoming: A Soldier's Story of Loyalty, Courage, and Redemption" is available now at