After a busy few days and maybe my lowest mileage week of the whole darn year, I was busting to go a few miles on Sunday even though the forecast said the chance of rain was 100 freaking percent.
Ordinarily, that might’ve had me seeking an indoor venue, or at least rain gear. But after watching Ben’s cross country team compete on a flooded, muddy course at the conference championship the day before, I decided to suck it up and brave the elements. After all, it’s not like it was cold — just wet.
He’s had a disappointing sophomore season, culminating in sore calves that had him riding a bike during most practices the last couple of weeks, so I was really proud of him for coming up with his best time this year on a day when most runners were quite a bit slower than usual. (One guy on his team, momentarily blinded by the pouring rain, ran into another runner’s dad on the sidelines. Another runner in the JV race wiped out in the mud coming out of the woods, scrambled to his feet, then took one step and wiped out again.)
My run on Sunday was much less exciting, and not nearly as wet. Though I got drizzled on for maybe the first half mile of a 4-mile run, I didn’t feel a drop the rest of the way.
Rainy days are so often like that. Looking out the window, or at the online radar screen, it can seem like “Waterworld” out there. But if you actually venture outside for any length of time, rain tends to come and go. And once you’re wet, you can stop worrying about getting wet. It’s done. From then on, it’s just a question of where you end up on the damp vs. drenched continuum, but that’s not such a big deal unless you’ve got a long way to go and you’re developing blisters.
I can be a weather weenie at times. Hopefully in the future I’ll remember that wet n’ wild NHC meet and suck it up when my inner whiner wants to stay inside.