So it rains in Vancouver. A lot.
Of course, everyone knows this. But you don't really "know" it, until you live in it.
When naysayers said "you'll hate the rain" and "oh, but it rains so much in Vancouver" as I readied to depart life in Ontario for a West Coast adventure, I poo-pooed their negativity. I mean, it's just rain, right?
Right.
Except it does take some getting used to.
For the last seven days (ish) it has rained consecutively here in Vancouver. The skies have been grey. The mountain tops are clouded over. And the same light drizzle has been keeping the pavement wet and rain-fearers inside for a week.
The good news is this: it's not "that" bad. It just takes some getting used to.
Yesterday, for instance, I was walking outside with Beamer. And although the sun wasn't shining bright, I could see it, breaking through the clouds. And I thought the day was destined to be beautiful. I smiled as I saw some of the mountain peaks across the Bay peaking out above the leftover rain clouds. I thought "Here comes the sun." At that very moment, my head bent backward, my grin to the sky, it started to rain. Right then. With the sun still fighting through the clouds. It began to rain sparkling drops. The best part was that almost instantly, on this busy street, where people were working, shopping, walking, talking, eating on patios, etc. hundreds of colourful umbrellas went up in unison. Like from a carefully choreographed musical. Singing In The Rain, perhaps? People who live here expect the rain. They're always prepared for it. They open their umbrellas, and they carry on. Nothing changes, except the number of accessories required.
Of course, not being considered a "local" yet, but a "back east" import, I was soaked by the time I got home. I am admittedly still a little naive (ok, a lot naive) about the weather here and was convinced the day would be beautiful! Chock it up to Ontario naivete and building character I suppose. I laughed. And learned a lesson.
Two days ago, I was scheduled to run an 18k route as part of my half-marathon training. I woke up to dark skies and rain. I waited. And waited. And waited. It rained. And rained. And rained. The day was nearly half over when I decided to grin and bear it. I geared up, and headed out! It wasn't so bad. My pace was brisk. The rain was cool. I was relatively comfortable. My iPod was hopping. And then I began to get wet. Really wet. And my running pants started to get heavy. And every couple of blocks I would yank them up, in fear of mooning passersby. Then I began to slip on wet leaves. The wetter I got, the longer my pants seemed to get, and the more I slipped on leaves. By the 8k mark, I was a running disaster. I was running not on the concrete below me but on five inches of stretched, wet, leaf-covered pant ends. I was miserable and frustrated. I turned around, hiked up my pants, and trudged home.
Of course, there were several other runners out in the rain this day having marvellous runs. So why was mine so exctuciatingly awful? Because the other runners are "rain smart". They were dressed appropriately for it. Again, that blasted perparedness that locals have! (I hope to inherit it soon). In the meantime, I think I'm going shopping for some new, water-proof, anti-grow-five-inches running pants.
So it's rainy.
It's wet.
But getting by and loving life here is all a matter of preparation.
When you expect them and embrace them, the rainy days here are actually beautiful.
Really beautiful.
So, "no" I say to all the people who thought the rain might coax me home.
I still like it here.
Love it, actually.
Who knew that it rained in paradise?
