why we run in the rain

i remember the day that had shaken with thunder, been bleached for split seconds by lightning, that had been drenched by rains. one runner came, and chose to run. we went to the track together, and it was just her and i. i stood, and she ran. the workout was difficult, and she pushed against the resistance and the discomfort, but also against the rain. not everyone pushes as she did against the resistance and discomfort, but she did. and she was the only one that did it in the relentless downpour under dour grey skies. who would you put your money on, in a race? that day was one of my most rewarding as a coach.

but that was before. that was when running and coaching meant everything, before they were quickly and stupidly taken away.

when i run now, the memory of loss beats down on me, presses like high rushing water on my thoughts, exposes, seeps through and widens the cracks in my will, and floods my heart. i hear the things they said, i see backs turned to me, i remember what it was like to feel meaning, and i wonder how real that meaning could really have been. my feet grow waterlogged with sorrow. anger clings to my body, resisting the swiftness of my arms and legs.

but still, with the help of friends, i venture out, and i learn to run, again, in these conditions, in the current season of my heart. and if i can keep running, it will make me stronger, on the road, and in my life. it's hard, and i decline as much as i accept, but it's all i can do.

so tomorrow, we're supposed to run, and tonight, the windows rattle slightly with the heavy peals of thunder. my cat sits leaning nervously against my leg. but unless lightning warns us away, we will run and be thankful for the test. instead of staring out the window and feeling helpless and beaten, we'll put ourselves out there, and we just may learn to love the feel of the rain and wind in our faces.

imagine how we'll run when the sun shines.