I forced myself out for a run today in the pouring rain. Nothing more fun than dodging rain drops and jumping over puddles. I'm like a big kid, thrilled at getting her shoes all wet and covered in mud.
I blame this bizarre habit on our long lost friend from South Africa.
I remember the summer she was here, five years ago, feeling huge and miserable suffering though the worst heat wave France had seen in years.
(I can still clearly see her ever so cute teeny tiny undies up on the laundry line, next to my big old post-partum underpants. The horror... the horror...)
When the sky finally cracked open one afternoon, the rain started to fall and she got inspired. As she started lacing up her shoes, I stared at her, dumbfounded, in awe and jealousy.
She looked at me wryly as she pulled her hair into a ponytail and said,
"What's the worst that can happen? You get wet? Come on, let's just go and see how it goes."
40 minutes of cool, refreshing rain, splashing us and making us laugh. Getting us muddy and giddy.
Oh, how I had no idea how much I needed that.
I still run with her when I run in the rain, even though we've lost touch over the years.
It wouldn't be possible to not think of her as I watch the raindrops hit the road in time to my strides. Impossible to not think of her as I giggle jumping over snails. Impossible not to think about her when I finish and realize that you really don't get that wet when running in the rain.
I only wish she knew how far I've been able to go since my first run in the rain...
"What's the worst that can happen? You get wet?"