Ordinarily I will check the weather forecast both the night before and morning of a run. At the very least this entails clicking on my Weather Watcher icon at the bottom right of my laptop display. The current weather and hourly forecasts fill the screen. I become enlightened to the probabilities of particular temperatures, winds, and precipitation.
My recollection of last night is a morning of mid 70°s and partly cloudy, later in the morning, possible scattered showers. I did a cursory check this morning and noted nothing different, perhaps mistakenly. Furthermore, suspecting no precipitation, I did not bother going the next level, and actually looking at radar images in motion. I love these and have been using them for seven years now: http://orunner.net/ebv/weather.html
So this morning I walk out the door suspecting nothing unusual or in particular. However, that soon changed.
As soon as I walked out of my front door there was something overwhelming odd and unusual in the works. At 6:15 AM the sky was as bright as mid morning. It could have been 11, or at least 10. Except, it wasn't, and the sky was an eerie red. As I walked to the car I began to realize that it was impossible to tell from where the sunlight was coming. I looked at the horizon where I should detect a brighter edge, one where the orange orb would soon surface. There was nothing. Every direction the same. Bright and redish.
I noticed some peripheral flashing, what we sometimes call heat lightening. That was my first clue that weather was in the works. I didn't overly concern myself with it, discounting along with the peculiar atmospheric conditions manifesting themselves with odd bright light and a distant electrical discharge. Then I turned onto the drive into the park. For the first time this morning I could see something other than an even omnidirectional red cloudy glow. Off to the Southwest was a tall dark rolling wall. It was coming at me and facing me directly. 'What the heck', I'm thinking. I park, get out, and scan the skies. Directly overhead I see a tiny plane, a jumbo jet, no doubt miles above. It is small, but clear. The clouds, bright and red, are well above it; several if not half a dozen miles up. So now I realize that from the Southwest a storm is literally rolling in and under what is a gorgeous morning sky. Oh vey.
Molly and her mother are there at the park, waiting as I pull up. Connie, the mom, says, "looks like its going to rain." I'm thinking the same but hoping that we can beat it and reply with a silly and soon to be proven wrong, "Forecast is for partly cloudy".
I tell Molly, who is expecting a three mile run, that we will do a quick two. She is delighted. Connie takes off on her bike, heading North on the path. Molly and I jog South. With just a couple minutes a breeze which had already manifested itself, picked up with a pre-storm attitude. At 7/8 of a mile I felt a drop hit my arm. By the mile, a sprinkle, We turned and my hopes to get back before the storm were diminishing. With in a minute it was raining full strength. Thunder is heard off to our left, the SW. Under the canopy of the river forest I am able to drop my head and keep my glasses dry. Seconds later, there is no hope. we are under the center of a full strength summer pop up thunderstorm. Lightning cracks, glass are wet, I am blind, off they come. I grasp my glasses and squint to see, imaging that I could have had my cap. Molly and I exchange comments on the pleasantness of running in a summer shower. We are both soon both drenched.
We return to the fountain, stretch, and go home. How delightful