In a storm

There are dark clouds brewing and so I run.

The rain pelted me slowly, softly. The warm asphalt steamed and smelled of schoolyard playgrounds in early September thunderstorms. I ran through the forming puddles and under dripping palms, past police cruisers observing a rainbow clad woman screaming to herself on a quiet residential street, past short-shorted rugby players and an Italian storefront wafting garlic from the UV shade covered doors.

I gripped my phone in its low tech plastic baggie, adjusted the electrolyte gels shoved into my waistband, and hoped my earbuds (I hate that word- earbuds- it makes me think of worms drilling into my eardrums. Is that weird?) wouldn't crap out on my nine mile run.

Nine miles! Its the longest I've ever run and perhaps it was easier because I had to wait out two massive deluges: twenty minutes at Borders flipping through a Natural Remedies book convincing me of ailments I most likely don't have (can tapeworms make it to your ears?!!), and fifteen at Beach Place where I was sad to find that Sally O'Briens, my favorite memory of an Irish Pub- Fire in the Kitchen and Nutty Irishmen (a band and a drink although they sound interchangeable), no longer exists.

Nine miles of storm clouds and tourists peering down at me from the decks of restaurants like Hooters, staring at my solo wet t-shirt contest in the endless rain. I may have won.

Nine miles of squeaky shoes and pebbles in my socks and glancing out at sea, watching the container ships disappear and reappear with each passing squall.

Nine miles of nagging thirst with water falling all around.

Nine miles and not wanting to stop at the end.

The downpour ceased and the bright robin blue sky revealed itself when I slowed my trot to a walk, slipped off my drenched shoes, and stepped into the warm rain of the shower.

I am running more and more to keep that clear blue sky in sight.

And most of the time, it works.