On Friday, Australians were told to “get out from under the doona”, as the first tentative lifting of restrictions started to happen.  Our PM clearly did not look at the weekend forecast for the east coast of the country.  Under the doona was the only sane place to be, with the coldest April day since time immemorial, more rain in the first 4 months of 2020 than in the whole of 2019, and feet of snow in the Alps that no-one can ski on.  And under the doona is where I plan to stay for now.  Besides, Victoria is lagging behind the rest of the country in lifting restrictions, and we despair of ever being allowed to hit a golf ball or catch a fish – two things I never felt the slightest urge to do, until I was told I can’t.  Now I feel like my sanity depends on being told I can head to the nearest golf course or river.

Of course what I REALLY want to do is get back to orienteering. With Other People (no offense Ian). We’ve been going for a run on a map every third day, with walks around the neighbourhood on the other days.  It’s been keeping us physically fit and mentally occupied, and has been a life saver. But all good things must come to an end (Please make it end. Please).  We anxiously await the green light on being able to do our sport, but it’s seemingly weeks away from a restart.

So, on with self exercise (sigh), which in this weather is suddenly much less appealing. We spent Saturday eyeing the movement of the clouds, gauging the wind strength, and watching the rain radar in an attempt to pick a window of opportunity. Fleeting bursts of sunshine were punctuated by downpours, in a manner reminiscent of the Scottish Highlands, where conditions faster than you can pull on your Goretex.  Finally we bit the bullet mid afternoon, chose a map close by, packed rain gear and thermals (the temperature was barely into double figures) and set off in the vain hope of a dry spell.  As we pulled out of the drive, spits of rain turned into splodges, and puddles began forming on the roads.  We began to doubt our skill at analysing complex meteorological data (aka where the blue blobs are on the BOM radar relative to where we are, and how fast are they moving somewhere relative to where we aren’t).

However, in a master stroke of timing that is quite unusual for us (refer previous blog entries), it all cleared away precisely as we pulled up at the start location.  “I’m off” announced Ian, grabbing his already-bagged map. He disappeared up the road before I had time to undo my seat belt.

Miraculously the rain stayed away for the next 40 minutes, and I navigated my way around the course, enjoying the fresh air, open space, movement, the lack of other people, dogs and bikes, and the puzzle presented by a good course with many options.  I reached my final decision point at the top of the biggest hill – should I divert to grab one last 3-pointer in a mad dash, with 6 minutes left? Or should I finish early with a glorious downhill run?  What would Pete do?

The first spats of moisture quickly made my mind up for me. I could see the warm, dry car beckoning, about 3 contours below me.  After the fastest warm-down in history, we were home and (mostly) dry. And back under the doona.  Wake me up when spring arrives.