Running in the rain

On Monday, Brian called at midday to ask if I wanted to run together that evening. I hadn't been out in a while, so I agreed. I met him at 7 p.m. with plans to run from his house to the Cobbs Hill Reservoir and back, and we set out.

Just as we left his development, it began to rain. Then it began to rain hard. Figuring we looked really hardcore, I suggested we soldier on. Let me just tell you, if you ever find yourself saying, "I mean, come on, how much wetter could we even get?" you might want to stop and think about whether you really do want the answer to that question. Because shortly after I said that, the hard rain turned to a torrential downpour. I'm talking about sideways rain, deep puddles from suddenly overflowing drain gutters, rooster tails of dirty water leaping from the tires of every passing car, five extra pounds of weight in your clothes, and your shoes squishing with every step. We were SOAKED.

We turned around.

When we got back to Brian's house, we got some beach towels and dried off. We'd run about a mile and a half, but even though I haven't run much yet this season, I barely felt anything. Our minds had been occupied elsewhere. The psychology of running is so fascinating. If you smile while you run, you'll feel stop hurting and feel happier. If you find the rain entertaining rather than depressing, it won't slow you down.

As I wrote this on my front porch, a soggy man jogged by, wringing out the front of his shirt after a similar spring downpour. He didn't look like he was having much fun. I hope he doesn't have far to go.