If it's February, it must mean rain

Rain. Lots of it.

Wind. The howling kind. They type that rocks you back on your heels.

The latest storm punched into California just in time for Sunday's 12 mile ridge run. I launched out of the house for a 12 mile loop heading south into the teeth of 28 mph winds and sheets of rain.

Dude! What were you thinking?!

I loved it. There's nothing like witnessing Mother Nature acting out like running in a storm. Witnessing such power and strength is both humbling and exciting.

The rain and wind were cold and my legs were a nice cherry red as I waded southwards into the teeth of the squall line. 3 miles of flat warm-ups later, I joined the trailhead and headed up the 1500' climb to the ridge line. Two other intrepid runners were descending and we exchanged friendly greetings and comments on the "beautiful weather". Sheets of rain pelted me as I climbed the trail, now a constant flowing gutter of rain water and mud. Footing was decent for the most part. At mile 5, I topped out on the ridge line and the southerly gusts helped push me along. The ragged cloud bases whipped mere feet over my head and the scrub oaks showed the shiny silver green undersides as large branches yielded and shook to the gusts of wind.

In a few deep ravines where the trail cut through, it became calm and quiet as the steep green hills acted as wind blocks. Silent and still, rain-soaked cows would track my progress with barely a turn of their heads. Even they must of thought me mad.

By mile 8, the trail turned downhill, the rain's stopped and even the wind moderated. Descending down the east facing hills, the valley of my town lay wet and quiet below me. No other runners or hikers were out; I was the lone looney.

By mile 10, I could shed my raincoat although showers threatened around me. Finishing up 2 miles later, I was a wet but happy runner.