On Accidentally Joining the Race

September 19, 2011 § 1 Comment

According to most of the world, or at least the internet, Autumn is a time of golden leaves, crisp cool air and misty mornings. In Wales, it’s about rain and lots of it.

Yesterday morning I went for a run, hoping to get out in a brief dry spell. As I crossed into the park and began jogging, I noted the number of people out that morning. Trickles of runners heading around the park with me. About five minutes in, it started to rain again. A thick coating of fine, cool droplets, that battered my eyelids and soaked me through. Shortly after, a man standing on the sidelines took a photo of the woman running shortly ahead of me and it struck me that I must have accidentally joined a race. Then, he took a photo. Evidently I’d been mistaken for a participant.

I would hesitate to call myself a runner. Around three times a week for the last almost-two-years I’ve run between three and seven kilometres. There have been pauses, long and short, within that time. And injuries. But, I love it and while my inner masochist thrives on it, there’s something relaxing, cleansing and without judgement about it. Because I have never considered myself to be an athlete, anything I do is better than nothing. Any run is better than no run to me. In fact every run is a step against the person I thought I was as a child.

So when I was mistaken for an actual racer, I was taken aback. And yet, there I was. Up before 10am on a Saturday morning, joyfully running in the Welsh autumn rain, accidentally joining the race.



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