I’m fortunate in that my employer allows me to work from home one day per week. That day is Thursday, and I look forward to it because I don’t have to make the hour-long commute into the city and can perform my job in my bathrobe if I want to. It also affords me a full day with unGuy and a rare daylight run, and I bank my hours during the other four days of the week to allow me this luxury. Yesterday, I decided to split from my afternoon routine and go for a jaunt in the morning instead. The sun was out, and the temp was around 50 – perfect for an easy neighborhood excursion. I gave unGuy a warm bottle and strapped him in the BOB, affixed the shield accessory to the stroller and began my circuitous route through the outer reaches of our neighborhood. The roads were still a bit muddy from recent rain and I found myself powerhiking a fair amount just to keep my heart rate in check. About seven miles in, I was starting to tire, so I decided to end my run using the shortest distance possible. Thankfully, our area is comprised of a series of intersecting loops, so I can change my course on the fly if I want to.
While navigating this shortcut, I noticed the clouds beginning to build overhead, further lending to my decision to call it a day. However, the speed at which the sky began to darken became increasingly disconcerting. I started picking up the pace, ignoring the high heartrate alarm pulsing from my Garmin. As I was climbing a steep section I sensed a rushing sound in front of me that diverted my attention from the road to the landscape beyond, and what I saw was a curtain of white, advancing on me like an angry mob. It was starting to hail. At first, I reveled in this freakish front, crying out ‘No way!’ in an incredulous, almost childish tone of voice as the deluge increased in intensity. Soon, the stings peppering my head and arms became too much to bear, and I crouched beneath the little shelter the stroller had to offer as the hailstones grew from peas to marbles. I nervously scanned my surroundings, with seemingly no refuge in sight. To the right, a cliffside, hail pouring off its lips and accumulating in pyramid-shaped piles below. To the left, a drop-off and no place to push a stroller. I knew I had to make a decision quickly. Lighting clapped around me, and never mind that 5-second distance theory – I had to find cover fast. By now the hail had completely blanketed the ground, and I pushed further up the hill while I still could. Chin buried deep into my chest, I pressed onward, feeling a warm sensation in my shoulders seconds before a bolt struck nearby. I felt exposed and vulnerable, and I decided that getting under a tree would be the lesser of two evils. About 100 yards later I came upon a driveway with a welcoming conifer nearby. I raced towards this giant and came to a stop completely out of breath through a mix of exertion and hyperventilation. This incredible episode had unfolded in a matter of 3-4 minutes. I quickly poked my head around to the front of the stroller, expecting to find unGuy wailing uncontrollably. He was not. In fact, in typical unGuy fashion, he appeared to be enjoying himself.
As quickly as it had come, the storm front pushed eastward and the sun began to seep through the cloudcover. I hesitantly slipped out from beneath the tree and returned to the road. I could only walk as if pushing a sled, pristine ice bearings collapsing under the weight of the stroller, and I was still about 1.5 miles from home. Finally, I arrived at the house, the BOB covered in pine needles and snowy aggregate, unGuy looking none the worse for wear. The squall had barely glanced our property but managed to pummel an area only an earshot away. My hands were so cold I could barely unclip my son from his harness, and I began to absorb the gravity of what had just occurred. Even now as I write this, the anxiety of that brief ordeal is a persistent afterthought, and I suppose I’ll be ordering a home weather station before the day is through.