Seeing as how my first marathon is in 4 weeks, I have no excuse to not do any of my training unless it is injury related. That said, if there is torrential downpour, I either grin and bear it, or run on the treadmill (blat).
I opt for the former, and set out after work as my cohort Jackie said, “The sooner you go and get it over with, the sooner you can take a hot shower.”
I set out at around 5:20 to make my way up to Central Park. I’ve noticed as of late that running through rush hour traffic on the streets is similar to being in a role playing game (as I would imagine, anyway), and I soon found myself darting under umbrellas, hopping over curb-side puddles, and the like.
And let’s talk about this, as it’s been bothering me since I set off for work this morning. Males of Midtown Manhattan: Forgive me, but are you attending a golf event? Is there an 18-hole course that I somehow missed? No? Then leave the oversize umbrellas at home. There is absolutely no reason to be carrying an umbrella that could easily cover a family of five on the streets of New York. Be reasonable.
Anywho. By the time I got to the park, I may as well have been running in a monsoon. I looked down and saw my shorts sticking to my legs. My feet were making sploshing noises. ‘Good work on putting your phone in a plastic bag,’ I thought to myself. I looked around and saw one other girl running up the main drive—it was just the two of us.
That’s when the nostalgia hit in. I suddenly felt like I was 8 years old out in the rain, playing flashlight tag, soccer, and every other game that most neighborhood youngin’s play. Once again, I ran sans music, and listened to the rain and the random cars passing through the park. I saw five runners total. One pedestrian peered out from under his umbrella at the 90th street entrance and said, “You’re a trooper!”
“Thank you!,” I replied.
I only ran 5.65 miles, and I could have tacked on more. There was no need to. I was out there having fun. And I know that if it does in fact rain on the day of my marathon, I won’t fret it.
Bring it on, Chicago. I’m ready for you. And it’s okay if you throw in a curve ball.