I don’t like running in the rain. I could give you the lengthy list of reasons why I don’t enjoy running in the rain, but suffice it to say it kinda sucks. That makes it quite problematic for me when two weeks of rain coincides with the peak of my training season.
Aside from all the grey and gloom, the weather has been getting under my skin and contributing to a sense of low-level continuous stress. On the morning of my longest run, 23 miles, I woke up at 3am (OK, a lot of stress). I could hear the torrential downpour over the fan in my room and immediately tried to find some alternative to running in the weather: Did I really have to run 23 miles? I’d already hit 20 miles on a previous run. But that makes for a really long taper…What if I put it off and ran 23 miles some other day? Ha, that would require a significant chunk of time for running on some other day and goodness knows that won’t happen. And what if it’s raining harder “some other day”? Do I have access to any indoor running opportunities? 23 miles in laps would suck, but it would be dry. Could I run later today? I don’t have to be into work until 1pm. But 6 of the 8 weather forecasts I’ve checked show that the rain will only get worse later today, with the temperature plummeting as well…
While frantically scouring the internet for miracles, it stopped raining. I figured it was now or never, so I headed out the door and began 23 miles shortly after 4 in the morning. It was…almost surreal. In the aftermath of the washout, everything felt washed clean. The world had settled. Very rarely, a taxi passed by, indicating that life occurred somewhere, but not here. I was overcome with a sense of stillness, serenity, and solitude. It almost felt like
HOLY CRAP THAT’S A HUGE SPIDER!! TAKE EVASIVE ACTION!!!
Anyway, where was I? Oh ya, stillness, serenity, and solitude. It felt like I had been granted special permission to observe the world before the world really even existed. Before life happens. It was so calm that even I wasn’t really participating in the world. I was just a fleeting visitor with the privilege of witnessing sheer tranquility, humbled by the overpowering possibility of peace.
By 20ish miles, it started to sprinkle, and by 22 miles it became a drizzle. Life had long since taken over, filling the world with the bustle and hum of daily routines.