I Was Made to Run in the Rain

An epic story of courage, determination, and the choices one makes.
By Margaret

Today I chose to run. I set out from my house in the heat of this summer afternoon. I was headed no where. I was determined to complete my assigned mileage. As soon as I stepped out my front door, I regreted that decision. Sticky sweat poured down my back, and my face was brighter than the stop signs I passed along my route. The sweltering Southern humity beat upon me until I cried for mercy.

Then came the mercy.

Halfway along my second loop I felt a change. Slight at first. The trees began to sway. The sky's blue added shades of gray.

Ahhh. A cool summer breeze. Relief.

Before I could fully appreciate the new condition in which I found myself, the clouds broke open, and a torrent of rain fell upon me. I began to race toward home.

Home.

"What am I doing?" I thought. "This is not where I belong."

Rain is not a time for running. It is a time for flannel and Kindle books and tea. Why am I here? Why am I sprinting from tree to tree, pausing briefly under swaying foliage to catch my breath? Why did I ever leave home?

I shouldn't leave home. I should wait beside my window always, waiting for the first droplets to hit the glass, waiting to jump into my jammies and take a nap. I will never miss another rainy summer afternoon. I will never run. I will swell up like a balloon. I will not fit into my jeans. I will lose all metabolism.

Wait. What am I saying?

No jeans? No metabolism?

Nevermind. I guess the loss of those lazy days is worth it.

Where are my tennies? I must find them, you know.

I was made to run in the rain.