...is timing.
I got home today, changed my clothes as quickly as I could, and got out running. At about one mile, it started to rain. No problem, right? It's only water. At about one and a half, I saw a flash of lightning.
One thousand one
ont thousand two
one thousand three
BOOM!
Sh*t. OK, time to head for home. A mile and a half in a straight line. No shortcuts, and the lightning has just struck a little over 1000 meters away, probably at the top of nearby Pinnacle Hill, which I was planning on crossing over. I ran home as fast as I could, stopping several times to crouch in yards. I wonder what the homeowners thought I was doing, squatting there in their front yards. The rain just kept increasing in intensity, making me wetter and wetter the longer I was out there. If it weren't for the lightning, I probably would have been running through the puddles, splashing and generally acting like a kid a fifth my age (do 10-year olds still splash in puddles?). As it was, I was watching and counting, dividing by five and trying to find shelter. For a second, I thought about heading for the pizza place where we usually get our pizzas, but immediately realised that I would actually be going farther than if I went straight home. By the time I got home, I was dripping wet, literally. The water was dripping from every part of my body -- except my face. I'd worn a hat, which was probably the only reason I could see where I was going the whole time. About 20 minutes or half an hour after I finished, the rain started to lessen and finally stopped.
Timing.
No comments:
Post a Comment