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| Soggy lunchtime walk |
Yesterday I was the subject of ridicule from my husband and
daughter, because I moaned lustily about the weather as we squelched through
our Witsun Walk. How can an avowed cross
country runner and outdoor enthusiast complain about the rain? Easily. When
you’re not running, but walking, the rain feels colder, wetter and altogether
more belligerent. When it falls at the wrong time of year, when you’ve got cold
Champagne and a picnic to celebrate anniversaries and the coming of summer,
when you want to sit among the daisies and turn your freckled face up to the
sky and feel is all right with the world.
When you’re running in club singlet and shorts in the
driving rain you feel heroic, you’re gunning for your PB and keeping warm. The
mud spattering the back of your legs is a badge of honour. The sweat don’t show
and the steam rising off your body as you double up at the end of the finishing
funnel makes you feel EPIC.
The only running occasion that for me was spoilt by cold and
rain was the hideous inaugural Milton Keynes Marathon. I started tired and
under prepared, I was wet and cold from the cycle ride to and from various
stations. It was the first day of my period. I finished practically in tears.
You should have heard my lusty moaning then.
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