By now, you'll know that I love a good storm. Yesterday we were at Cronulla beach (infamous for racial riots a couple of years ago) - gorgeous day, fabulous beach, but HOT - we sat happily under only our best purchase for the summer, a beach umbrella, avoided the super hot sand and people watched - an amazing ethnic mix. And the best part of the day was finding a car park - I've even got used to asking people if they're leaving a park and then waiting parked in the middle of the road, blocking traffic while the car exiting MY park packs all their stuff away, dusts sand down, rearranges their undies, gets the kids snacks, then eventually leave and I'm oblivious to what's going on behind me. I've found a park!
So we're heading home and we can see that exciting bluey, purpley sky developing - there's a storm brewing. When we get home, the storm arrives, and a welcome relief for the heat too. I wait, I'm keen for a run. I hear the storm moving north, sweet I think and I head out down a new unchartered bush track. As we're still at the tail end of a storm I decide against the ipod.
Storms, apparently, don't head in the one direction. Storms can actually be quite random.
I hear the thunder coming back, I start to count the seconds (ie distance) between lightening and thunder. D'ouh, storms coming right back at me. I'm in the bush. I'm actually not quite sure where I am. It's 6.30pm at night. And I'm out in a storm.
For the second time in a week, I have to back track on my run. Only this time I'm doing it very quickly and a lot more nervously.
I love a good storm, I just don't like running in them.