So I’m sitting here in my running gear….on the sofa….blogging. As in, not running. Don’t worry, I won’t post a photo. Why aren’t you running, I hear you cry? Well, I fully intended to. In fact, I should be about two miles into a nine mile run as I write this. That was the plan. Then the heavens opened. As in, cats and dogs, torrential downpour opened. If I had set off five minutes earlier I would have been utterly drenched.
So here I am, looking forlornly out the window as the deluge shows no sign of abating. Maybe it’s on for the day or possibly it might ease off any minute. This is Northern Ireland, after all. We are the masters of four seasons in one day. It could be snowing by lunchtime, or I could be in my shorts, catching some rays. We are permanently confused when it comes to dressing for the weather.
I get very anxious before I run, much as I get very anxious before I do anything. Despite having done so thousands of times before. At present, the anxiety is cranking up to an unprecedented level. Part of me wants to call it a day and get back into my Daddy Pig pyjama bottoms and Nirvana ‘smiley face’ hoodie. Yes, I’ve just typed that. Not many middle aged men can carry off that look. I’m just a natural, I guess.
This also reminds me of childhood summer holidays when I scanned the horizon for the slightest chink of blue sky amidst the storm clouds. We would will the good weather to settle over our play park so we could grab a few precious hours playing football or cricket. Before the next rattle of thunder would send us scurrying for cover, laden down with stumps and impromptu goalposts.
I’ve been caught out in the rain many times, while running. Sometimes it is a welcome, refreshing drizzle, at other times you have to take cover under the nearest tree, such is the severity of the squall. On other occasions you just have to grit your teeth and trudge through the puddles, muttering and mumbling about how much you hate life. That evaporates, however, at the sense of achievement when you finish the ordeal.
The downpour is easing off slightly. I am dogged with indecision. Should I chance it, and hope I make it without getting soaked to the skin. Perhaps play it safe and opt for a shorter route. Or be ultra cautious and abandon my running plans for the day only to mope around the house worrying about weight gain for the remainder of the bank holiday. Oh, decisions, decisions. What a pickle.
Decisions are part of life. My employers pay me a not insignificant amount of money every month to do so. Yet, when it comes to extracurricular choices I’m nowhere near as clear and confident in my choices. Instead I’ll sit here and fret some more. Possibly write another paragraph. Then check my Twitter and Facebook accounts. I also have household chores to attend to. There aren’t enough hours in the day sometimes.
Okay, I’m doing it. The second the clouds clear. That could be in five minutes time. Or five hours. But either way, I’m not going to let Mother Nature get the better of me. I could return with sunstroke or pneumonia, that’s the way the cookie crumbles in this crazy part of the world. Wish me luck, WordPress. In the famous last words of Captain Oates….I’m going out, I may be some time.