Today, it's all about the light

So, what to say about a run? It went for an hour. It started on Courtney Place, jaywalked its way up Cambridge Terrace, skipped its way through Mt Vic Tunnel, loped its way through Hataitai, then paced winsomely around the bays.

What to say about waking at 5a.m to the sound of rain? Of extricating oneself from duvet, cats and husband at 6.40 on a Saturday morning, to change, shivering, in a dark bathroom in the middle of winter?

How many layers should one wear? Polyprop, wicking t-shirt and wind parker. Fears of overheating will soon disappear, and it will soon become apparent that the wind parker is, indeed, water resistant, and by no means water proof.

So, what is there to celebrate today on a cold morning, on a wet morning, on a morning where your strained abductor returns to niggle at you, where your glutes are drowned out only by the whining coming from your mind, which clearly thinks you have gone insane, and wants to call an end to this whole running thing?

As we round Pt Jerningham, as we begin to scent home, I pass a photographer and his assistant, squinting at the clouds sprawled across the distant mountains. In passing I comment "today, it's all about the light".

Today, it was all about the light. It was about the double rainbow, stark in colour against the gun-metal sky, and us gasping in delight as we turned up Cambridge Terrace. It was about light and shadow and catching up with ourselves through the tunnel. It was about white ships on grey harbours. It was about everything being grey but for gold and amber walls of 80s skyscraper glass.

This was not an easy run. It's too close to the half marathon, I'm overtrained, and the mental demons are kicking in too strongly for that. This was about cold, and it was about wet. Running through Hataitai I thought for a moment that it was about to start hailing. Yet as we ran the bays the rain eased briefly. This was a strangely beautiful run. It was a run that made me glad to be out there, before 9a.m, in the middle of winter. It reminded me that I could be in bed, and that I would have been sleeping away this chance to be blown away by the majesty of this grim morning.

So I made it back to the gym. My abductor hurt, I was drenched, and I was cold. A deep conditioning treatment for my hair, a face mask, 20 minutes or so gossiping in the sauna with other Jog Squadders, only to discover I'd locked my keys in my car, triggering a half hour wait for Hamish to emerge from bed and drop off a spare key.

It's still raining, but I'm warm by the heater with my cats. I don't know whether this half marathon will be a success, timewise, but I know it will happen. If I can hold onto this sense of beauty that running has given me, then I will have already won.