The thing I dislike most about running.
The last time I saw the sun was October 2nd.
This is because I live in a rainforest.
I am soaked within moments of stepping out my door for my run most mornings. I stuff my shoes with dry newspaper after every outing. The sun is already rising well after 8am, so I never run without a headlamp and reflective vest. Sometimes I accidentally dash through darkness-disguised mini-Marianas Trench puddles and curse as the water soaks in and up, forgetting that my sneakers have been drenched the entire time anyway, and so the momentary insult of a freshly wet shoe is no worse than the fleeting, strangely delightful anguish of waking up in the morning to throw off my blanket, submit my feet to the icy floor to find body vertical, trade my warm pajamas for cold running tights, and — limbs still soft and sweet with sleep – stumble out the door to chase my breath through the dark for a few hours.
These are ideal running conditions for me. Rain, temperatures in the low 40s, not much wind yet. When the roads ice over and the wind comes back, then maybe I can complain. For now, though, I am nothing but lucky to be out there.
In fact, the only drawback of waking up at agony o’clock in the morning to run in the rain is putting on a sports bra. There is absolutely nothing more harrowing or dreadful on planet earth; it’s like a damn mensa puzzle at 5am. I typically spend a good long 83 seconds simply arranging my appendages so that I’m ready to find the correct holes for my head and arms. Jesus, Mary, and Joseph, putting on a sports bra is horrendous.
On Sundays, the group I run with often goes out to breakfast after our trail run. The guys can all change their shirts in the parking lot and head right in. Me? I have to tote my things into the bathroom and fuss around in there wrestling with the stupid wet sports bra, which at this point has suctioned itself to me like some kind of strangling octopus. Because you can’t go sit around and shoot the breeze at post-run brunch hour if your sweaty sports bra is still on. As we all know, it turns into a death sentence ice vest that leaves you blue lipped and and miserable.
This incoherent post was brought to you by 100% cloud cover.