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Dancing through the raindrops

I had a plan to ride my bike for four hours on Saturday. When I woke up to pouring rain and gloomy, gloomy skies, I called my riding partner and bailed. I am willing to ride in the rain, and in fact I have invested a big chunk of money in foul-weather cycling gear, but the the little voice in my head said it's only January, go back to bed!

So I did. And when I got up, I felt incredibly guilty, so after procrastinating for an hour or so (reading blogs, drinking tea, reading blogs, washing the dishes, reading blogs), I put on my running shoes and headed out into the rain. And oh, was I miserable.

This week I've been toying with an idea: that all of my runs this season will be at least an hour long. No longer will I be content to do the minimum. When my training plan prescribes an easy run of "45 minutes to an hour," I will not be happy to log 45 minutes every single time (as I did, uh, last year). If I tack another 15 minutes onto every "easy" run, it will make a big difference in my yearly mileage, and, I think, in my running fitness.

So I was running in the rain, feeling pretty tired, trying to figure out how to end it as quickly as possible. And I reminded myself of my one-hour-minimum goal. So when I passed the usual turning point for my 45-minute run, I kept going straight. And when I passed my next opportunity to cut the run short, I kept going straight, westward into the driving rain.

When I got to Ocean Beach and saw the crashing surf, I realized that going the extra distance was totally worth it. The ocean was a leaden greenish gray color. The waves were hardly waves at all, but more of a foamy churn at the edge of the sea. And the beach -- the banks of sand badly eroded by recent storms -- was littered with debris.

I crossed over to the beach side of the Great Highway and stood on the sidewalk, watching the roiling waves crash and crumble onto the sand. It was awesome. And then I saw a little pack of runners spill out from one of the staircases leading from sidewalk to sand. They ran out toward the surf like excited kids. And it hit me -- why am I standing here? I could be running out there, too.

I ran down the nearest stairway and hit the packed wet sand. Storm debris was all over the place: trash, giant hunks of kelp, driftwood, and logs with giant nails sticking out (former pier pilings?). Scraps of what might have once been boats. Lots of nasty-looking brown foam.

It was raining pretty hard at this point, and very windy, but I didn't care. The salty reek of the detritus on the beach, the ocean spray, the rain that hit me like pellets, the mineral colors of sea and sky, the drama of the scene before me, it all reminded me why I love being outside. A small part of me still wishes I had taken along my new waterproof camera.

I ended up running about ten miles. I got home muddy, sandy, wet, and happy.

I woke up Sunday morning to brilliant, sunny skies. I ended up doing an abbreviated ride with some friends, which was delightful, but it wasn't the best part of my weekend. The highlight of my weekend was definitely running in the dark gray tempest.

Sunny Sunday: Cypress trees and a magnolia.

January 16, 2006 8:48 AM