Isn't it strange how the rain we curse when we're fighting our way through a cold winter morning run is the same rain we welcome on a warm summer day? The same rain that paints the world in vivid colours, that turns the ground soft, that releases the most wonderful forest scents from pine trees and cools down our skin?
I know the physiotherapist said Wednesday. I know I am probably going to regret this. But my Garmin somehow found itself on my wrist and I couldn't resist going out in the rain for a walk/ run in the woods. I promised myself to stop after 1 km, and I kept that promise. I ran two minutes, walked one. I switched my Garmin off after 6 minutes to remove the temptation of running any further and walked home, while the rain drummed louder and louder on the ground.
By the time I got home, I was completely soaked. My hair dripping, I stretched properly. Now I'm waiting for my verdict. I committed a crime, a crime against my knee, and the punishment could be severe: more rest, more pain. Let's hope that the jury is a sympathetic one and I get away with murder.