Thursday, 12 September 2013

Karen writes: A night for ducks

Just in from a 15km run in the dark in the pouring rain.  Well, it didn't start out that way, it was still daylight when I left home, slight drizzle, nothing too much to worry about.  I headed off to Beachlands along the coast, knowing it was going to be an easy run for distance rather than a strenuous hill effort. By the time I got to the end of Beachlands the rain was getting heavier, by the time I turned around at the half way point the light had faded and I needed my headlamp on.  By the time I got back to the Beachlands shops I could barely see because the it was raining so hard, I was running through puddles up to my ankles in the dips in the footpaths, and starting to feel a bit disillusioned with my silly lot.

Around this time I started noticing the smell of peoples cooking, perhaps the rain was keeping the smell closer to earth but I got more than my share of casseroles, frying, and other less easy to identify and less appetizing food smells.  It didn't help to be soaking wet, still a long way from home, and now hungry!

I was running along, still 6km to go and a car pulled up on the other side of the road, "hey Karen".  It was Kate B, another runner and Iron-person, and someone from one of my previous lives.  That brightened me up immensely. I suddenly wasn't alone in the world concentrating just on my fingers wrinkling up and my stomach protesting and being anxious about the strange shapes made by the wheelie bins and rubbish bags now lurking like sinister creatures on the sides of the roads as they waited for Friday collection.

I ran the rest of the way home, my own dinner was waiting.  As I pottered along I quite enjoyed thinking about all the noises, my feet sloshing, the rain battering my rain-coat hood and the roar of water in the drains. It was a good run but I'm glad to be home, tis a night for ducks not runners.