This morning I went for a run. We’d had a fairly big night yesterday and I woke up with the urge to move. To just run. To clear my head. I heard the rain falling on the roof and looked out my window. Another miserable day. It’s September and I’m running my last yolo loop of the season, from London, through Europe, back to London. I’d packed for nice weather in Southern Europe, with some extra layers for the colder days in the north. What a failure.
Ever since we left London, over two weeks ago, autumn has been surprising us with its mood swings. The threat of rain was constant. Occasionally the sun made it through, giving us glimpses of summer in Cinque Terre and Vienna. In Rome the weather went through an emotional roller coaster. The sky opened and Rome turned into a swimming pool, a pool filled with cigarette butts. Stairs turned into waterfalls and the gorgeous fountains were overflowing.
Today is another wet day. My shoes are still wet from two days ago and I feel my nice dry socks soaking up the moisture. It’s a temporary discomfort. I start running around the old town of Krakow. The big drops of rain wet my hair and slowly start to roll down my face, picking up salt along the way. More and more my glasses are fogging up, until I don’t see what I’m doing. I keep running. I splash from puddle to puddle, feeling the fresh intake of water on my feet every time.
I run. I run between the puddles. I run in the change of seasons. I run past leaves green and yellow. I run until I see the sign of my hostel. My clothes are sticking to me like a second skin. I peel them off and after a hot shower place myself in front of a window. I stare out at the leaves on the ground and the rain drops that hit them. Autumn is so much better from behind a window.