My first moment of stupid: I'd neglected to pack anything waterproof in which to put my car key. Following the death-by-drowning of my iPhone, I'm skittish about anything even vaguely electrical getting wet. My solution (tie it up in the bandana I'd brought to cover my post-run nightmare hair, bind it about my wrist and hope for the best) wasn't ideal. By the time I'd reached the first half-mile marker, the bandana was seriously damp and on it's way to soaked. I untied it and held it in my hand for the rest of the run.
My second moment of stupid: wearing a shirt from which I'd cut the uncomfortably tight trim around the neckline a bit too far. Between that and the increasing weight of the fabric as the rain fell steadily down, I was sporting a serious Flashdance/bared shoulder look. Annoying and uncomfortable.
The run itself, though? Not bad.
I'd decided that I would try to run three miles without stopping. Now, my legs were still stiff and sore from my first run. The sunglasses-destroying quad stretch had taken the heart out of my cool down. I neglected to stretch properly and spent the following day walking about stiff legged, wincing every time my thigh muscles were even remotely engaged. On this rainy day, though I was energized from kickboxing and determined to do this thing. A two minute brisk walk served as a warm up and then the steady, evenly paced run began.
The trail was deserted. No surprise, really. When the rain wasn't an outright torrent, it was a steady drizzle and I was drenched within the first fifteen minutes. I focused on keeping my strides low to the ground, on breathing, on the distressingly damp bandana in my hand.Thought of a story I want to start, of another I need to revisit. Counted up to one hundred, then back down, several times. Took note of the autumn leaves against the grey and dreary sky. Splashed through water sluicing across the trail. Sped up when I saw squirrels; began to suspect I might be part terrier. Made it to the mile and a half point, ran a few paces past, turned around and headed back. Got a stitch. Tried to breathe through it. Failed. Kept going anyway. Picked up the pace the last quarter mile, if only to get out of the freaking rain. Felt sort of badass nonetheless.
And somewhere in there - soaked to the bone, hair plastered to my back and water dripping from the brim of my Quidditch cap, a steady jab of discomfort in my right ribcage, fearful that I'd killed my car key as I did my previous phone, cold rain spattering against my exposed left shoulder - I realized I sort of liked it. At the very least, I didn't hate it.
It might have been a moment of madness. I hadn't eaten since the night before; this could well be low blood sugar talking. But I ran three miles (non-stop, yo) in the cold rain and, as I was stretching out (so, SO thoroughly!) found myself thinking about the next time out.
Though I do need better running shoes. And a better left hip. What's up with the IT band crap, body? I know you're old, but suck it up!
*Yes, run. We all know what I do isn't running, but typing apostrophes on either side of the word every time is tedious and serves to mock my fitness deficiency. In the spirit of staying positive, I will henceforth call my shambling zombie gait running. If and when I progress to the real world's definition of running, my version will be referred to as tapping the Speed Force or, alternately, 3x2(9YZ)4A.