Let's not pretend it's easy getting out of the house when it's raining. Excuses come more readily. Old injuries ache, especially in winter. A minor niggle will suddenly act like it's a gnarly old scar, sensitive to changes in moisture. The thought of cold drops of water splashing up the back of your calves is anathema. But when you drag yourself out, and perservere through those first 5 minutes? The rewards of running in the rain are all yours.
There are fewer people about in the parks and on the pavements. Fewer dogs too, which means fewer long leads waiting to trip you up. And amongst the runners out there you encounter a certain unspoken solidarity, a mutual respect, a kind of omerta reflected in the knowing nods and smiles. That is one of the best things about it. You're much more likely to be acknowledged by your fellow rain-bearers, and if you're in a city where runners seldom say hello then that makes all the difference.
And a kilometre in, a mile in, you get nicely coccooned. Your body warms up, and you get into a rhythm which seems smoother than normal. As you glide through the wet, you start to think you may actually be enjoying the rain itself. And when you turn for home, you can access a little extra kick, spurred on for speed as - despite your appreciation for the experience - it's also time to get in and get dry. With a special sense of achievement.
I recently discussed this with a colleague, who told me that once he gets out in the wet he finds himself compelled to lift his arms up to the skies shouting "Is that all you've got?!". A touch of the runner's high there, I suspect, but what a great response. The adrenaline of that little piece of man vs. nature.
rain photo by Gabriele Diwald