The kinship of rain
I love the sun. Almost nothing makes me happier than spending a warm early summer day in the sun.
But sometimes, you just need to let the rain wash you of your cares.
When I was 20 and a senior in college, I took a trip to Seattle to interview for several jobs. I stayed with a friend and took the bus all over town. The week I was there, Seattle had record torrential rains, resulting in mudslides, floods, all kinds of catastrophe. I had my own catastrophe en route to my first job interview. I had to take the bus out to somewhere in suburban Seattle, transfer busses and ride the rest of the way to my destination. It was raining hard at the transfer and I had 30 minutes to kill, so I took refuge in a diner and ordered a sandwich. As I was paying the tab, I saw my bus pull up. I ran after it but missed it. If I waited for the next bus, I would miss my interview. This was in the days before cell phones, so I was not able to call and explain my predicament. I decided to walk to the interview, about 2 miles away. Lacking an umbrella, I got completely drenched. But I showed up on time, thinking I didn't look too bad. As I got escorted back to my interview, a girl in the office exclaimed "Oh my god! Look at your ankle!" I had developed a blister by walking in my nice shoes on the back of my ankle, and my nylons had wicked the blood into a 4-inch circle of gore on my ankle. It looked like someone had taken a knife to my achilles tendon. I was given the chance to go to the restroom and clean myself up, but I still looked pretty bad. The interview went ok, but I was sure I'd made a horrible impression. As I stood in the rain afterwards waiting for my return bus, I let it wash over me and let go of the day, thankful that it was over.
I did get the job, but decided I didn't want to live in Seattle with all that rain.
Today was a similar kind of day.
Over the weekend, I was supposed to do a 20 mile long run. I have two of these runs scheduled as part of my training for my July 29 marathon. I'll run one slow, just to get the feel of the miles, and attempt the second one slightly faster. Running this distance requires a rest week between efforts, to ensure both runs are as good as they can be. After the two runs, I have a 3 week taper scheduled to give my body a rest and store up speed for the marathon.
Which means I pretty much had to get the first run in this weekend.
But Saturday morning I woke up with a slight tickle in my throat. I'd been out to dinner the night before and had a rich meal, so I decided it wasn't the ideal day to run anyway. I'd try again Sunday. But by Sunday my cold had bloomed and it was pouring. There was no way I could run. I'd have to try for Monday, but that was the last possible day, as I'd have to work the rest of the week. I hoped my cold was not the result of pushing myself too hard in the hot weather on Thursday. I slept all day Sunday and by Monday felt pretty much normal.
I woke up Monday morning to the news of apocalyptic floods, and all of the trails I usually run on, which are near the Potomac, were underwater. More torrential rain was forecast all day. I spent a few hours distressing about what to do, and finally decided to drive the Mt. Vernon trail around 2 PM to see what it looked like.
Surprisingly, the trail looked clear except for a few downed trees, so I set out on my way. I started at Belle Haven Park on the Potomac. The park was completely underwater, but the trail bed is raised a few feet, so it snaked through the lake like a dam.
I started out and discovered I'd forgotten my watch, which was fine, as most gurus will explain there's no way to run these long runs too slowly. The idea is just to get in the miles and spend time on your feet.
Running without a watch in the rain, I was able to pay attention to the rest of my surroundings. I noticed the ducks swimming beside the trail in the raised water. I noticed the heightened babble of the creeks emptying into the Potomac under the trail's many bridges. I saw a great blue heron fishing, and a hawk with a mouse in its talons. A barge steamed down the Potomac, and I raced it. Clouds hung low over the hills of Mt. Vernon, and shrouded the Wilson bridge.
Through all of that, I was completely alone, except for just a few other souls. I saw maybe 6 people on this normally popular trail. We greeted each other as we passed, understanding the kinship of rain. The only other people out here on a day like today are people who understand the need to cleanse themselves through a run in the rain. They run faster than the typical weekend warriors out here. And they are quiet. No "good morning" or "hello" or "how long are you out for today" - just a nod, maybe a wave and a knowing smile. I wonder what they have on their minds right now. Are they trying to wash themselves of the day's trials, or just relishing the clean childish feel of running in a drenching rain?
I'm not running very fast, and stopping for frequent walk breaks. I feel run down from my cold and am not at 100%. But I'm just out here to get the miles in. I'm shuffling by mile 13. My back is tight, and my feet are feeling a little tender from running in sopping wet shoes. At the pace I think I'm running, I'll probably be on my feet for 4 hours - almost as long as it will take me to run the marathon and about 30 minutes longer than a typical 20 miler. But spending the time on my feet is good preparation. Even though I will never approach the 26.2 mile distance of the marathon in my training, I will approach the time it takes to run that distance - a fact almost as important. Its not the distance, per se, that wears a marathoner down, but the sheer number of minutes spent on your feet.
By 15 miles I'm not feeling great. I have a million little aches and pains, and I have developed the hiccups. This is a new one on me. I have to stop completely for a few minutes. I'm stopping for more frequent walk breaks to stretch my back and legs. This run is not going well, and I can't wait for it to be over. The pouring rain has started again and my clothes are clinging to me in ways that makes running difficult. At 15 miles I've turned back to run a 2 mile section of the trail again, to bring my total run up to 20 miles. This repetition is having a dragging psychological effect.
Finally, I reach the end. I walk back up to the park, refill my water bottles at the water fountain, and just sit down. Just relieved to be off my feet.
I sit on the bench at the water fountain, totally spent, flood waters rising around me, ducks swimming at my feet, letting the renewed torrent wash over me.
Washed thoroughly in the rain, I am just grateful that today is over.
But sometimes, you just need to let the rain wash you of your cares.
When I was 20 and a senior in college, I took a trip to Seattle to interview for several jobs. I stayed with a friend and took the bus all over town. The week I was there, Seattle had record torrential rains, resulting in mudslides, floods, all kinds of catastrophe. I had my own catastrophe en route to my first job interview. I had to take the bus out to somewhere in suburban Seattle, transfer busses and ride the rest of the way to my destination. It was raining hard at the transfer and I had 30 minutes to kill, so I took refuge in a diner and ordered a sandwich. As I was paying the tab, I saw my bus pull up. I ran after it but missed it. If I waited for the next bus, I would miss my interview. This was in the days before cell phones, so I was not able to call and explain my predicament. I decided to walk to the interview, about 2 miles away. Lacking an umbrella, I got completely drenched. But I showed up on time, thinking I didn't look too bad. As I got escorted back to my interview, a girl in the office exclaimed "Oh my god! Look at your ankle!" I had developed a blister by walking in my nice shoes on the back of my ankle, and my nylons had wicked the blood into a 4-inch circle of gore on my ankle. It looked like someone had taken a knife to my achilles tendon. I was given the chance to go to the restroom and clean myself up, but I still looked pretty bad. The interview went ok, but I was sure I'd made a horrible impression. As I stood in the rain afterwards waiting for my return bus, I let it wash over me and let go of the day, thankful that it was over.
I did get the job, but decided I didn't want to live in Seattle with all that rain.
Today was a similar kind of day.
Over the weekend, I was supposed to do a 20 mile long run. I have two of these runs scheduled as part of my training for my July 29 marathon. I'll run one slow, just to get the feel of the miles, and attempt the second one slightly faster. Running this distance requires a rest week between efforts, to ensure both runs are as good as they can be. After the two runs, I have a 3 week taper scheduled to give my body a rest and store up speed for the marathon.
Which means I pretty much had to get the first run in this weekend.
But Saturday morning I woke up with a slight tickle in my throat. I'd been out to dinner the night before and had a rich meal, so I decided it wasn't the ideal day to run anyway. I'd try again Sunday. But by Sunday my cold had bloomed and it was pouring. There was no way I could run. I'd have to try for Monday, but that was the last possible day, as I'd have to work the rest of the week. I hoped my cold was not the result of pushing myself too hard in the hot weather on Thursday. I slept all day Sunday and by Monday felt pretty much normal.
I woke up Monday morning to the news of apocalyptic floods, and all of the trails I usually run on, which are near the Potomac, were underwater. More torrential rain was forecast all day. I spent a few hours distressing about what to do, and finally decided to drive the Mt. Vernon trail around 2 PM to see what it looked like.
Surprisingly, the trail looked clear except for a few downed trees, so I set out on my way. I started at Belle Haven Park on the Potomac. The park was completely underwater, but the trail bed is raised a few feet, so it snaked through the lake like a dam.
I started out and discovered I'd forgotten my watch, which was fine, as most gurus will explain there's no way to run these long runs too slowly. The idea is just to get in the miles and spend time on your feet.
Running without a watch in the rain, I was able to pay attention to the rest of my surroundings. I noticed the ducks swimming beside the trail in the raised water. I noticed the heightened babble of the creeks emptying into the Potomac under the trail's many bridges. I saw a great blue heron fishing, and a hawk with a mouse in its talons. A barge steamed down the Potomac, and I raced it. Clouds hung low over the hills of Mt. Vernon, and shrouded the Wilson bridge.
Through all of that, I was completely alone, except for just a few other souls. I saw maybe 6 people on this normally popular trail. We greeted each other as we passed, understanding the kinship of rain. The only other people out here on a day like today are people who understand the need to cleanse themselves through a run in the rain. They run faster than the typical weekend warriors out here. And they are quiet. No "good morning" or "hello" or "how long are you out for today" - just a nod, maybe a wave and a knowing smile. I wonder what they have on their minds right now. Are they trying to wash themselves of the day's trials, or just relishing the clean childish feel of running in a drenching rain?
I'm not running very fast, and stopping for frequent walk breaks. I feel run down from my cold and am not at 100%. But I'm just out here to get the miles in. I'm shuffling by mile 13. My back is tight, and my feet are feeling a little tender from running in sopping wet shoes. At the pace I think I'm running, I'll probably be on my feet for 4 hours - almost as long as it will take me to run the marathon and about 30 minutes longer than a typical 20 miler. But spending the time on my feet is good preparation. Even though I will never approach the 26.2 mile distance of the marathon in my training, I will approach the time it takes to run that distance - a fact almost as important. Its not the distance, per se, that wears a marathoner down, but the sheer number of minutes spent on your feet.
By 15 miles I'm not feeling great. I have a million little aches and pains, and I have developed the hiccups. This is a new one on me. I have to stop completely for a few minutes. I'm stopping for more frequent walk breaks to stretch my back and legs. This run is not going well, and I can't wait for it to be over. The pouring rain has started again and my clothes are clinging to me in ways that makes running difficult. At 15 miles I've turned back to run a 2 mile section of the trail again, to bring my total run up to 20 miles. This repetition is having a dragging psychological effect.
Finally, I reach the end. I walk back up to the park, refill my water bottles at the water fountain, and just sit down. Just relieved to be off my feet.
I sit on the bench at the water fountain, totally spent, flood waters rising around me, ducks swimming at my feet, letting the renewed torrent wash over me.
Washed thoroughly in the rain, I am just grateful that today is over.
posted by Bon @ 5:35 PM
0 Comments:
Post a Comment
<< Home