After a long week at work I’m looking forward to my Saturday morning run. I go to bed on Friday, with images of me sprinting along in the cool, crisp air, then returning refreshed and rejuvenated. When I awake, however, I’m immediately suspicious. The room is still dark. As I peek out the window, my fears are confirmed. It’s lashing it down, the drops richocheting off the ground like bouncy balls.
Well, there’s nothing I can do. But this does call for some serious, military-style preparation. Pink hat. Check. Pink running jacket. Check. Check Facebook. Check Twitter. Running trousers. Check. Check email. Socks. Check. Trainers from bottom of wardrobe. Check. Rearrange all shoes in bottom of wardrobe and Check them. Check. Running belt. Check. Oh, did I pay in that cheque? Laptop on, check cheque. Affirmative. Great, ready to go. Just need to get dressed. And set up new playlist for ‘Marathon Songs’ on phone.
Five hours later (okay, maybe one and a half. I like a bit of meolodrama), I venture out. The precipitable onslaught has not abated (ie it’s still pouring). I’m hoping my music is going to drown the splatter of drops on my hood, which is tied so tightly my face is barely visible.
After a few minutes, it’s clear my preparation was in vain. I am soaked. This results in bemused looks from pensioners at the bus stop, a strange man in a van I contemplate swearing at and then the normal sane people – members of the public sensibly dressed in woolly jumpers, with umbrellas. I then start to formulate a plan: I’m going to invent a new piece of equipment for runners, a small umbrella that you can attach to your head to stop you getting wet. Because then, of course, no-one will notice you…
After a shaky start, I start to get into my stride. That’s despite feeling as drenched as the proverbial rat. And an alarming incident with a stack of squelchy leaves on a downhill stretch which nearly results in my bottom and the pavement becoming very well-aquainted. Who needs good weather? I am soldiering on. Marathon runner trainee extraordinaire. Pow!
Unfortunately, towards the end of the run, I am not feeling so good. The familiar feeling of nausea kicks in, along with a general hatred towards anyone who looks at me or gets in my way. Nevertheless, after just over an hour of puddle-dodging, I finally make it home. Six and a half miles done.
After some stretching and a bit more daydreaming, I head indoors. Something is different, I just can’t put my soaking pink-gloved finger on it. I walk around, trying to work it out. With furrowed brow, I peek out the window once again. Ah yes, there it is. Hello sun.