Th rain is here. At least for the next 10 days. And that just as far as weather.com projects. Every single day: Showers. Showers. Showers. Showers etc. etc. etc. And it will probably be that way for another 180 days after that, as it often is here in the Willamette Valley. I resigned myself to this on Friday, and took full advantage of it on my 13.3 mile run Saturday morning run (to be addressed later). My intentions yesterday were to finish the recovery process from Saturday, get the lawn mowed, the garden harvested and taken down for the winter, the raspberry bushes trimmed back, pull a few weeds, pretty much all of the things I hate to do in the rain.
In the waning hours of the afternoon, as the clouds began to roll in and the temperature began to drop there I was, pruning my raspberry bushes (delicious, by the way- very pleased with how they grew in their first year) when a lady in full workout gear ran by. Content to take the day off for recovery, I didn't think much of it until I saw the huge rain cloud crawling over the hills to the west. The rain was coming. It would be here before morning.
It wasn't two minutes before I was in the house throwing on my gear, looking to my wife for the OK (she was getting ready to feed the kids dinner--I think) and sprinting out the door. The road was calling my name.
I started way too fast, but I knew I was only going to go 2.5-3 miles so I didn't care. My legs burned. My lungs were on fire. I was sweating profusely and getting cold at the same time. And it was awesome.
4 months ago I decided my goals for the 2.6 mile 4th of July fun run were a) don't finish last in my family (sorry Courtney) and b) don't puke at the finish line Since then something very strange has happened: I love to run. Strange things indeed...
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