Notes
5:45 - alarm barking at me. Slowly come out of the haze of sleep. Rain. Not a down pour just a steady rain, the kind of rain that slowly but surely soaks the whole earth. Down the stairs, open the door to the patio. My suburban life has become such a reality that my first thought staring out the patio windows was "Nice, I won't have to water the plants tonight." A planned 6 easy miles with 8 x 100m strides can't wait, why should it, it's just water after all. I choose my higher mileage Launch lightweight trainers. Lace up, toss on a singlet thinking, why bother with a regular shirt, more fabric means more water collection. I head out the door and remind myself, "don't fight it - embrace the rain."
This weather was interesting. I could see steam roll across the asphalt as the rain fell steadily. The temperature was comfortable. My hands were cold at first, but as the body warmed up to operating temperature the chill dissipated. Six miles around marian lake. As I round the back corner of the lake a Blue Herron flies across the surface of the water -it what appeared to be slow motion. The bird looks prehistoric to begin with, but the rain and the steam made for an altogether other-world scene.
Continuing on it occurs to me I've left my key at home, I need to get back before the wife leaves for work. I'll cut this down to four, grab the key and finish at the local middle school track.
Two miles in, I'm soaked to the bone. Not typically one for shirtless running, but I'm ditching the singlet when I grab my key. During the two miles back to the house, I become keenly aware of the whole experience of running through a steady rain. When it's dry, my mind wanders easily. But this rain is clarifying - it's forcing me to pay attention. When you're not out in it, and I mean when you haven't given yourself over to it fully, the rain seems much more a distraction, clouding your vision, dimming the natural light, muffling sounds, and suppressing all smells, other than it's own. But I was in it today. I saw the rain form droplets on the brim of my hat and with a systematic rhythm drop off the side of my face. I smelled a mixture of fresh cleansing water and late spring flowers. I felt every drop as it hit my arms, shoulders and face. I could hear the rain tap at the leaves and roofs of the houses I ran past. I could taste it as it ran down my face, today without the typical salty taste of sweat. And in the midst of all that, I noticed the occasional sensation of my chest lifting and dropping as I breathed. It was beautiful - I don't want to sound overly dramatic, but I don't know that I've been that aware of my environment in any circumstance in a long, long while.
I grab my key, ditch my shirt and head for the track. The track was empty, the parking lot was empty, school is out for the summer as of yesterday. I like 100 meter strides, they're short, and you can do a bunch of them well since they sort of build to top speed instead of sustain at a high output. Today in the rain with an open track I felt like I could have done a hundred of them. I only did 8. I needed to get home to get ready for work. One mile back home. Shirtless. In it. Not thinking of any specific issues, of which there are always plenty, not work, not complicated relationships, not the future - not even the next minute, just absolutely, undistracted-ly loving running in this beautiful world. Amazed that I get to take part in it, to be a witness to a self-sustaining, life-sustaining system. And thankful to God for this clarity on a rather regular rainy Thursday morning.