To The Gods Of Cold, Wind And Rain

Wednesday Morning, 5:45am, Amsterdam

A city I’ve come to know well over the past year through work, lies dark and almost dormant. There’s little in the way of life at this time of the morning, especially on Wednesdays when many work from home.

Same city, another hotel.

As my alarm rings I hit the off button. Who knows how easily alarms ring through these walls, and my hotel neighbours probably want to remain in their slumber.

I lift the duvet. It’s heavy, warm. Inviting me to stay in its comfort for another hour or so.

I don’t need to be in the office until 8:45am and who would know if I were to just grab another couple of hours in bed?

No one. No one but me.

Plus, my friends are waiting for me. I can hear them.

They’re battering against the window and whistling through the trees. Calling quietly for me to come out and step up to another day, another battle.

I get myself up, splash water on my face, throw on my shorts, top and jumper and lace up my trainers. It’s time to go to war again. Here we are again my friend, I’ve missed you.

I hit the code on the hotel front door. Reception is still empty and it’s too early for the auto open to set in.

As I step into the street the cold air hits my face unforgivingly. I turn towards the cold, chill of the river and immediately I know it’s on.

The wind is harsh; the air is cold. The elements are unforgiving as the quiet of the morning is interrupted only intermittently by a few cars, bin vans and a couple of fellow runners. Steadily I move forwards, step by step hammering out mile after mile.

No one knows I’m here. No one is asking or telling me to be.

And yet, here I am, telling myself, demanding of myself no more or less than to show up again today as I do every day.

The cold of the river is a gift I don’t always get, and one I can’t reject.

I see you my friend, finding your way towards my path and offering yourself up at the altar of grit and resilience.

The cold, the wind, the darkness. They don’t demand anything of me, yet I give it up willingly. I know you’re seeking out the few. The ones that maintain equilibrium and harmony by hammering out more miles, more effort, to compensate for those who give in to the gods of comfort.

8 miles down and we’re done for the morning. Time to refresh, reset and go at it for the day.

As evening descends and my day in the office comes to a close, I find my way back to the hotel. Running gear on, back out into the streets to hit another 7 miles.

It’s different now though. It’s vibrant, busy, energetic.

I let my legs go, darting, dodging, trams, bikes, cars and foot traffic alike. The city is alive and as my mileage for the days comes to an end I cast a smile to the skies. I know that tonight I didn’t meet you my friend but also that you’re just waiting until tomorrow.

Why waste a trip where I’m energised by the life of the city when you can wait until the morning to hit harder in the silence, darkness and emptiness.

See you in the morning my friend.

Another morning, another cold chill. I head home today but I can’t give up the chance to go to battle with you once more.

The ceremony commences as soon as the alarm goes off. The heaviness of the duvet isn’t new anymore; I barely notice it. I know you’re waiting for me. Another 8 miles, another hour of hammering out each step in this beautiful concrete jungle.

As I descend on the hotel, I know the river breeze has lost the battle against me and I won’t see you again tomorrow but I will again soon my friend. Maybe next time I’m here again, maybe you’ll find me again sooner.

Tuesday, 06:00am, Chelmsford

I’m back home now and a week later the worst weather of the year has landed. The storm that’s taken out a huge part of the US, grounding travel and causing chaos, has sent its last remnants over here.

As I step out of the house the wind and rain lash into my face, whipping from side to side. The cold is relentless, the rain unwavering, leaving me soaked through within minutes.

As the wind and rain push into me, I push harder back. Here you are my friend.

Ah, I’ve been waiting for you.

Cutting left, right, straight, changing pace through the dark path. Round the flooded overflow of the river and towards the familiar home run to the gym. I arrive and step through the door, a little heavier, soaked from head to toe.

The gym is quieter this morning, I knew it would be.

Some of the regulars are here, many aren’t.

Many chose comfort over getting up and getting after it.

Many here still probably chose driving in relative comfort to going to battle with the gods of the elements. Some choose comfort over battle; some choose covered combat over all out war. Some of us choose to go toe to toe with the raw elements, embracing the gift that presents itself to us.

It’s not for everyone but for the small few, we take to it deliberately, focused, and with steel eyed determination. It’s effort earned and sought out. It’s a chance to ensure the equilibrium of grit and effort is maintained, for the many, by the few.

It’s been a week now since that rainy morning and you haven’t sent the cold, ice and rain to the same degree to battle with me yet.

Where are you, my friend? I’m waiting.

Those of us who call to you, wait for you, go to battle with you. We’re all waiting.

My friend, my adversary.
My companion, my resistance.
My teacher, my test.

Some seek comfort and solace. Some seek hardship and lessons to strengthen the soul, spirit and mind. Every time we meet it’s a gift given from the gods of grit, resilience, endurance and hard work.

So, as I wait to see you again just know that when I do, I’ll look straight at you, take a knee, dig my feet in, arch my back and explode into battle with you.

My resistance.
My proving ground.
My gift.

I see you.