About a month ago I wimped out on running with my friends in a rainstorm. (We run every Tuesday night.) So last night I was determined to get out into it. The boys went up Frank’s Valley, and I headed south along the coastal cliff trail. The storm was lurking just of shore and boy was I excited. Had on windbreaker, gloves, and warm wool tuque (home-knit cap). The wind was blasting and when I got up to our lookout spot, it must have been 50-60 mph. The few drops of rain falling stung my face, felt like bullets. I had to lean into the wind to avoid being blown over. The wind whipping my jacket sounded like a Harley, or like cards in bike wheel spokes. The raw power of the Pacific Ocean! The storm was pouring energy into me as I breathed. I’m still amped.
After a pint of Guinness with the boys in the pub, I drove north along the coast to get home. The rain was kicking in, wind howling, and on the radio, the bluegrass band The Steeldrivers was playing Good Corn Liquor and I pulled the truck over to an ocean overlook spot and got out and danced a jig in the storm. Seemed like the thing to do.