And yet better. Today at lunchtime, I peered through the venetian blinds at the office and saw a blizzard, and a couple of inches of snow on the ground. What a prospect.
Did it matter that I’d left my tracksuit top at home? And that I had no leggings? Yes, it mattered a lot. It made it even more memorable.
I made for the front door of the building, leaving a trail of incredulous stares in my wake. What do they understand? Into the snowstorm, it was like suddenly being able to breathe again. Five lovely, lonely miles around the golf course. Just me, my T-shirt and shorts and trainers – against all this lot. But I’m learning something.
It’s this. Just recently I’ve run in torrential rain and bitter cold and a blizzard. And I’m seeing that the elements are not the enemy of runners. Or needn’t be. Just the opposite. The gently shaking, sympathetic heads that peered sadly after me as I headed for the snow this afternoon, certainly believe that the snow is an opponent. Nothing but trouble to people in general. And to scantily dressed runners? Well. More than an opponent: a deadly enemy, with nothing less than murder on its mind.
No. I’m discovering just how friendly and how… purifying all this weather can be. We are beginning to like each other. We are on the same side after all.
