10 Reasons Why I Really Hate Running In The Rain.
I went on my first run of the week today and despite it being relatively easy on my body, it took it’s toll on my mind because of the awful dreary rain.
It wouldn’t fucking stop. It reminded me of how much I hate running in Ireland sometimes. All it does here is fucking rain and I don’t understand why tourists want to come here just to see clouds piss incessantly.
Here are my top 10 reasons why I hate running in the rain.
- I hate being asked ‘are you wet?’ by onlookers – This drives me fucking crazy. Some imbecile will come up to me with a smirk on their face saying “so you’re wet then?”. What could I possibly say? It’s fucking raining outside you moron. I’m outside. Why is this even a discussion? Oh. You’re trying to be clever aren’t you? Well done! You have quite the wit! Now suck on it!
- I hate not being able to see where I’m running – I wear glasses and when it’s raining they get blurred very quickly. Today I had to take them off but the rain was coming down so hard that my sweat was mixing with the rain to create a mixture that felt like it was melting my eyes. I was zig-zagging across the pavement like I was drunk, narrowly avoiding fences, street lights and cats.
- I hate the motorists who splash me – The breed of drivers who splash me with water are scum of the earth. They seem to enjoy doing it too. When I see a large vehicle approaching a wet bit of road I try to move as far into the pavement as possible to try to escape the worst of the splashing. It never helps.
- I hate the really deep puddles – I tried my best to run around the puddles on my run today but I just seemed to end up tripping into many invisible lakes of water. By the end my shorts were absolutely saturated because of this.
- I hate when my shirt becomes so wet that it becomes my second skin – And my man breasts are on full show for anyone to see. It’s as if I’m offering the my own sordid little wet t-shirt competition and it fucking sucks. All I need for the complete experience is for some dirty old bastard to dance up to me and stick a £5 note between my boobs. Then I’ll do a little dance.
On his grave.
- I hate when the wind is blowing the rain into my face – I don’t think there’s anything worse than this. You can’t see. You can’t breathe. Your face turns purple. It’s a nightmare.
- I hate when the rain starts to go off and then begins again, this time even harder – It’s as if a vengeful God is up in the clouds in control of the tap and is having a blast watching me become incapacitated with rage as the rain comes on strong once again.
- I hate coming back in after the run and soaking everything in the house – I’ve to go straight to the washing machine with my wet clothes but even then I manage to soak so much of the house that it looks like I’ve been having a pissing contest with an elephant that has a bladder the size of a hot air balloon.
- I hate the first step out of the door on a rainy run – Especially when it’s coming down hard and you think to yourself “shit I’ve got another hour of this to suffer. I might just stay indoors, read some Sylvia Plath poems and have a wank to daytime TV”. That’s what a normal person would do.
- I hate knowing that despite all of the pain I’ll run in the rain again – I am a stubborn fucking idiot and actually get some sort of perverse enjoyment out of running on rainy days. I know that I’ll be wet again someday soon and for once it won’t be a result of your mother touching my helmet.