A quick piece of background info for people who don’t know me.
I’m British, but have lived out of England for decades.
In some respects (well, a few), I still feel British.
In certain moments. Under certain circumstances. (Usually sport or royal family related).
But…there are mornings like today, when I realise how TOTALLY un-British I have become. Let me explain…
I set out for a run in the pre-dawn darkness, as one does in Delhi in the summers. And then the rain started.
Was I depressed at the thought of running in the rain?
Did I for one moment think of turning back and skipping my run?
Or did I rather smile at the prospect of a lovely damp run?
No, no, and yes are the correct answers!
I did a slow long run in alternating drizzle and downpours and loved every second of it. I was damp, then drenched, and then absolutely soaked to the skin in the final 3km…and loved every second of it.
Cold British rain vs warm Indian rain = no contest. India wins every time.
So, what did I see on my soggy, puddle-jumping run?
Empty roads. Dripping trees. Very few people out.
The highpoint was a nearly deserted India Gate, which was glorious, because it’s rare to have such an iconic monument to yourself, especially on a Sunday morning, when all the world and his wife usually rocks up there for selfies galore.
But not today.
I squelched my way back to my car, happy as a clam.
Warm rain zindabad!
You’re a super trooper, Christine! A small group of our Antara super troopers also went on a rain walk one Sun. You and Sunil are from the same pod!
Neena I miss yomping around Nehru Park with Sunil in the height of summer, with heavy rucksacks! Followed by jam butties in the car park. Ah, those were the days!
Having India Gate almost entirely to yourself sounds like the perfect reward for running through a downpour. I also loved the comparison between cold British rain and warm Delhi rain — getting completely soaked clearly feels very different when the rain itself is warm.