…is what I think, when I see runners pounding down the coast road in the driving rain.
And then, of course, I think of myself.
The first alarm goes off at 6 am on Thursday mornings. This bleating is generally futile, and the back up bellows half an hour later.
All going well, I’m out the door at 7.15, at the latest, to get the first bus, with enough time to walk across the Liffey and get the second bus.
The thing is, it’s pitch black outside. I mean dark. Dark as in: moon is still up. Like, night, practically.
The best thing I can do for myself on Thursday mornings is pack the bag the night before. It’s extraordinary how having to pack the bag can lose me precious minutes. Minutes that I’ve stolen in the scratcher. Hmm. I’m making a connection…
By the time I get to Dundrum, the sun is coming out. If it’s not raining. Oh, the mornings when it’s raining! The gloom! The chill! The gloomy chill! The chilly gloom!
Last week, I watched the rain blow in the wind. I saw this only because there’s a streetlamp right across the road. That’s how dark it was, I needed visual aids courtesy of the Dublin Roads Department.
But I got up, and got out, and got to the yard, and the rain blew away, and I walked down the road to the bus after my lesson in a state of satisfaction and pleasure, accompanied by a bright sky and crisp, fresh air.
Yeah, I am a mentaller, too. And everytime I see the runners pounding up the coast road in the driving rain, I think, Yeah, I know what you mean. Weather doesn’t matter.