On Running In The Rain
I guess I first began to really enjoy running in the wet in Asia; South Korea to be specific. Summers were hot and humid, and it was hard to get anywhere without glistening with the sweat of the struggling body. I would sometimes shower up to five times per day just to cool down and get rid of the stickiness which infected everything. Sometimes it would rain, and the rain, particularly in late summer could be epic. Rivers would form where roads were, and the air would cool enormously (if but for a few hours). Most people, being very precious about their clothes and hair, and convinced of acid rain, would shy away indoors, apart from a few brave souls shielded under brollies. I, however, would jump at the chance to take to the streets—like a child splashing in puddles.
On would go my trainers and simple running gear, and out I would go. Running in a summer’s rain is fresh, everything is in motion and breathing is easy. Some summers’ days you choke on the heat, and your lungs burn, and your heart pumps so hard you can hear your heartbeat louder than your feet. I don’t take to the roads in contemplation but attack them like the flurry and the intensity that comes in finding your edges.
For me, it’s both refreshing and cathartic, embracing the moment and simply letting your worries be washed away for a time with the blanketing of a good piss down.