In an attempt to stave off my extra cake and roast dinner weight, I decided to embark upon a brisk walk up the hill to St Hilary, a favourite walk of mine. There was one snag however – the terrible weather.
There’s one thing you can rely upon in August, and that’s a walk in the pouring rain. All trussed up in a mac and boots, all that was missing was an essential piece of summer clothing – some waterproof trousers. I was determined to make the best of it, as I must get fit. And so I decided to walk an imaginary child to school – after all, in those days, when the children were young, I was a mere 7 stone nothing!
Whenever I set out to do some form of exercise, I always play music – not on an iPod – but in my head. This inner music keeps monotony at bay, and the way the weather was turning out, that seemed quite apt! My choice of internal singing was ‘Born To Run’, by Bruce Springsteen. I’ve recently arranged this song for my Quartet to play, and I contemplated the minor 7th interval in the second bar as I splashed childishly in some muddy puddles. ‘There’s no such thing as bad weather, only unsuitable clothing’, I mused, as I paused to unbutton the top of my coat to let some steam out – it was getting like a greenhouse in there! The cuffs on my wrist were now getting very damp, and this seemed to cause me to stiffen up and march like a soldier in my trench coat and big boots. A large drip of rainwater splashed on my nose, and I was immediately transported to the song from the ‘Sound of Music’. No roses or kittens in sight however, but oodles of burnt orange montbretia and white oversized daises spilling and protruding from every crevice.
I came upon a local artist who was emerging from her house, and who was waterproofed up to her eyeballs. “You can tell it’s August,” she remarked. “Nice weather for ducks”, I replied. A well meaning driver slowed, probably to offer me a lift, as the rain was now hysterically coming down, I averted my gaze however – I was doing this for fun! The hem of my dress was now saturated and was stuck to my kneecaps like a sodden handkerchief. I was wetter than a wet wipe at the bottom of the ocean – that wet! I was beginning to feel a bit exhausted, and contemplated whether it was safer to walk in the rain, than on a sunny day. Do serial killers ever murder anyone in the rain?
At last some familiar cottages came into view – I was nearly home. Five minutes later and I was back indoors, and drying through with a hot, steaming cup of tea. Who needs the gym when you have the rugged landscape to keep you fit? (Albeit – a wet one!).