I did something extraordinary today.
What‘s most interesting is not the doing, but the thoughts that circled my mind as I was doing it:
1. Stage of Denial
“This drizzle will pass soon, just like how it usually does at this hour…”
Just that it didn’t. And we had more than an hour left to go.
2. Stage of Self-pity
“That’s it. I’m stopping at the next bus stop.”
At this point, I regret ignoring the warning signs: the low rumbling of thunder against the murmuring rain. I could’ve been less Gung Ho (def. unthinkingly enthusiastic and eager) about a 6am run, and could be staying dry and toasty in my bed right now… but before long, innocuous drizzles morph into a relentless drumming, and we become heavy wet sponges traversing along the soaked pavements.
3. Stage of Reconciliation
“Don’t be the brat who finds fault with everything but herself!”
“Aren’t you a self-proclaimed nature lover?”
“If you can’t even tahan the rain, how can you handle the greater things that await you?
"Tahan" : to endure, bear, withstand
Retrospectively, I find this inner self-talk rather amusing. I realised that my self-deprecating tendencies extend to times when I feel the need to tame my inner brat. Even my parents don’t get to talk to me like this! In reality, it's actually unwise to retreat into a shelter halfway through the run. Not only would this delay the entire duration of exercise, but would also leave one feeling wet, cold and miserable, not to mention surrounded by a pool of self pity. So, I decide to carry on. It was either this or to risk being abandoned by my (rather dispassionate) mother.
4. Stage of Bliss
There’s something about the rain that drags my mind into the present moment. It forces the mind focus on the road ahead and to be okay with the discomfort of being drenched from head to toe, realising that I'm completely at the mercy of mother nature.
When the worst is over, running this way becomes an unexpectedly meditative experience. The vehicles zooming past, the nasty puddles, the curious stares of passers-by… these distractions all become irrelevant, leaving just the sound of rain and one’s breath. I remember why I'm here running every Sunday morning from 6-8am: to enjoy the moment.
My initial dread is now replaced by a deep-seated sense of contentment. Not just attributable the elusive runner’s high, but also because of not letting the vision of what “should be” ruin the experience we’re now sharing.
I did something extra-ordinary today.
I ran in the rain with friends who commit to showing up, rain or shine. The most surprising thing was seeing the smiles on their faces at the end of it all, even under the gloomy morning skies of January 2.
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