Rainy running

Should I stay or should I go?

It’s hosing down outside and I’m still in my PJs wondering if I dare to venture outside. Should I bite the bullet - don running shorts and T shirt and stretch these old lady legs? 

Or not? 

Would I be better off toeing the party line and joining the rest of the neighbourhood huddling sensibly under their duvets.

Should I stay or should I go?

It’s a hard one, especially so early on a Saturday morning..

The week, til now, has gone relatively smoothly. Three small runs completed without any major dramas.

But today might be different. Hard bits are on their way. I can feel it in my waters, as my old Nan used to say. Hard bits include the ‘long’ run that I need do, without fail, before the day is done. The instructions say the ‘long’ run should be completed on either Saturday or Sunday. 

Blimey!

The hardest part of the training is definitely the ‘long’ run. The ‘long run’ is always slotted into the end of the week and the thing about it is that it gets longer! And longer . And longer. It sneakily stretches from 45 mins to 2 hours when you least expect it. If I miss this week then next week will be even harder.

At this early stage my ‘long run’ isn’t particularly lengthy. Probably just over an hour. But, like I said, its raining. And it’s not just raining. It’s fair chucking it down!

I peek hopefully out the window. Yep! Still bleak as buggery! At 8 o’clock the weather man predicts several hours of unrelenting drizzle with some heavy showers thrown in for good measure. My will power waivers precariously at the thought.

Will power can be such an insubstantial thing. Weather dependent and water soluble too. I feel my normal steely resolve dissolve before my eyes. 

Let’s face it. A bit of rain can put even the most serious of running plans on hold. And pouring rain is high on the list of excuses not to run. 

In fact, ‘pouring rain’ comes out just below head colds, and hang-overs. And only slightly above sick kids, wet shoes, sore feet, blisters and bad backs. 

But, hey, if you want to go the distance (all 42.2 kms of it) then you have to be strong. You have to listen to aunty Lydia.

Forgo the comfort of your bed. And JUST DO IT!

These are the lines along which I was thinking when I suddenly heaved myself out of bed, chucked on the shoes, found an old jacket, filled up my water bottle and tore off up the street. Well, ‘slunk off’ up the street is a better description. I knew I had to do it as quick as I could, before I changed my mind.

Once outside the rain became even more relentless than promised. The streets were empty of anyone looking remotely sensible and my cheap jacket was quickly proving itself to be completely useless as a rain repellant. It took exactly ten mins before I pronounced myself completely soaked. By then every piece of clothing and every inch of exposed skin was ‘saturated’. ‘Saturated’ means ‘at the maximum point of concentration’. Which, in this instance, means I may not get any wetter. I mean. . . Once you’re wet you’re wet. And once you’re soaked you’re soaked.

This was good news, I decided. I was now as wet as I was going to be so I may as well just crack on with it.

And ‘crack on with it’ I did. For another sixty minutes I toiled along in the rain. Parts of my run were in the bush and for parts of it I was running along Ross Creek. So it all seemed kind of appropriate. I mean, it wasn’t like running in the desert in the rain or anything.

I even stopped thinking about how wet it was for a while. (Well, for a good 38 seconds, at least)

What helped most though, was coming across some other soaked creatures on my path. Thank goodness I wasn't the only looney, after all. Granted most were elderly folk dragged outdoors by pets. But I was now ‘elderly’ too.

I spoke to a man and his dog as I tried to shuffle past. 

"Bit wet this morning,” I said.

“Dog doesn't mind,” he said back.

The dog was one of those curly little white things. Only now it wasn't very white. The dog looked happy to be alive and completely oblivious to the worse than average weather conditions.

"Hah," I laughed, for no apparently good reason.

The man seemed to cheer up a little. “Oh well,’ he said. "It’s only water."

“Of course,” I said, trying to get some speed up in the muck.“Just like having a shower really . . . "
“In the outdoors,” he said.

“And with all your clothes on,” I said back. 

We both had a laugh and continued on our way. The further I went the better I felt. The man was right. It was only water. And I was only wet.

At one point being wet was even proving to be an advantage. Not wanting to extend the life of this run any more than I had to I ploughed my way up the hill in double quick time. 

And by the time I reached my front gate I felt a little surge of accomplishment. And a very slight sense of smugness. 

‘Not up yet?” I called to the rest of the house as I dripped my way inside.

All I needed now was a long hot shower and a bowl of porridge to bring me right. 

For the rest of the afternoon I would be ‘right as rain’.