Last Saturday, Sydney was drenched in torrential rain which frequently veered sidways due to hurricane-strength horizontal winds. Trees were falling and roofs were lifting, while the occasional sound of fire engines rushing off to emergency calls competed with periodic roars of thunder.
This was an opportunity too good to pass up, given my fetish with running in the rain.
So, as soon as C went to his afternoon nap and L settled in front of the TV, on went my trusty pair of Brooks joggers and out went my ass. Continue reading