Long Run

The forecast when we went to bed last night called for rain overnight (which we heard wind-spattered on the windows) but little chance of rain for this morning.  But when we awoke my radar app showed some lingering islands of green precipitation, drifting in off the ocean.  This was the day for the longest run in my training plan, 12 miles, and Martha was stepping up also to eight miles.  So it would be nice not to run those long miles in soggy shoes.

Conditions were perfect until somewhere between mile six and seven, when it indeed began to rain, just a few drops at first, and then more and more until my shirt was soaked.  But it was that very fine ocean rain, and not very cold.  We were running separately - I had more miles to complete so I had started sooner - but when we compared notes later we both had had the same thought:  "I've run in worse than this!"  I think I may have laughed a little - hah!  I suppose that's why we endure pouring rain and sweltering heat and verge-of-frostbite conditions - what our friend Morris calls "character-building runs" - so that we can say that we have reached an extreme limit of nature far worse than anything we can encounter in these twilight days.

I enjoy long runs as much as any kind of training I regularly do.  The pace is relaxed, and if there are other runners (as there often are in Highlands) there can be long, laughter-filled, easy conversation.  When alone, as I was today, there was ample time to reflect on things, to pray for people, to think about past running deeds accomplished and coming ones to be attempted.  I thought of Samuel Johnson's quote that used to hang on a little index card over my desk, "Great works are performed not by strength but by perseverance."  This was a persevering pace, and the only object was to put those long miles behind us, step by step.  By mile nine, most of the rain had stopped, and then in the final mile the sun actually came out.  

Martha had also had a good run, getting in her own miles in a slightly different way, although we passed each other going in opposite directions on the road.  And over lunch, she told me about something incredible she had seen in the parking lot of the picnic area, the same place I have run intervals before (between the Yield sign and the Christmas Tree sign).  I had spotted places where broken shells had been deposited and wondered idly how they had gotten there - perhaps some child had collected them, left them there, and cars had run over them?   She said she saw a sea gull drop a shell from high above, and then swoop down and pick away at the edible contents.  What a dent that would put in your car, or your head! 

The temperature continued to warm up until it was in the upper 60s, and crossing the bridge on the way home from Friendly Market and Blue Ocean, a peculiar haze of fog had descended on Bogue Sound, a beautiful sight as evening came on.  When we returned, I walked out on the walkway and the same warm, soft fog had appeared over the ocean.