Awesome Pants

3:12 a.m.  I roll over.  Over the last 6 weeks I haven't slept much so there was no surprise when the clock told me what I already suspected.  Still, I try and sleep.

At 4:00 I hear my oldest call to me from his room.  3 days away from being 17 and he has been sick in bed with the flu for 2 days.  In the darkness I find my way to his bedside.  He is hot to the touch.   I refill his cup with cold water, get a wet washcloth for his forehead and measure out medicine.  At 6'2" and knocking on the door of being a grown up, I relish the time I get to dote on him.

I crawl back into bed knowing the 5:00 a.m. alarm will ring in 30 minutes telling me it's time to go run.  Every fiber of my being does not want to run.  Winds are whipping outside my window and the gusts rattle the panes.  A downpour begins so fierce it sounds like rocks bouncing off the skylight.

Ugh.

Right on cue, the alarm rings.  The rains have stopped; the winds have not.  I continue to lay there.  I justify all the reasons why I don't have to run.  Yet I know, one of the best things to prevent me swimming in my broken heart is to exercise.  As hard as it is to get up in the dark of winter to run, not running is harder.

Getting dressed, I tip toe to the back door and open the slider.  The wind is a steady 14 mph with gusts well into the 20s.  The wind is from the south, bringing with it warmth in comparison to the 11° we had 4 days previous.  The rain clouds had parted great enough to show me the full moon hidden behind them.   Warm wind, full moon - these are unexpected surprises I would not have known had I stayed in bed.

Leaving the neighborhood I am faced with a head wind.  I tuck my head down to help fight against it.   Objects fly around me as I catch glimpses of them in the light cast by my headlamp.  Clouds roll quickly across the sky and occasionally the full moon bursts through illuminating the road in front of me.

A mile passes by and my watch chirps.  I glance at it and am surprised by the speedy pace I have kept despite the wind.  Another mile and a faster pace still.  I am grateful I didn't stay in bed.  Mid-stride a gust tries to knock me over.  I recover and giggle at the absurdity of it all.  My neighbors drive by and I know they think I'm crazy.  It doesn't matter, I feel good.  I decide to tack on another mile to the end of my 5 mile run.  My run complete and each mile faster than the previous one.  A joy I wouldn't have known had I stayed in bed; a joy that comes only from pushing yourself.

I felt awesome.

Later, as I drove my youngest son to school, we talked of the strong winds blowing and my run earlier that morning.   As I dropped him off and he jumped out of the car I told him, "Remember to wear your Awesome Pants today."

He smiled and said, "Mom.  I always do."  He then reached his hands in the air, began to dance and sang the line from a Lady Gaga song, "Cuz baby I was born that way."

He was still dancing his way into the school as I pulled away.  Driving to work, I thought a lot about what he said.  As hard as it's been lately and as unmotivated as I have been, God still made me awesome.  He made me perfectly me. 

The least I can do is put on my Awesome Pants every day.

The Rain

My tires cause the puddle to spray up and over the side of my car.  Several times through the night the rain fell with such intensity the sound of it hitting the skylight woke me.  Now the rain fell in a heavy mist; the mist so thick it concealed the stoplight ahead as if it were enshrouded with an early September fog.
 
The roads were quiet.  I was greeted by only a handful of cars as I made my way into town.  Turning down the parkway, I look for my friends as they were running more miles than I would and I knew this road was to be a  part of their route.  A short time later, I see the glow of their reflective rain jackets as my headlights illuminated them.  I honk and wave as I drive by.
 
Winter’s rains had swollen the creek close to overflowing.  The rushing current gave evidence to the amount of rain which had fallen.  Two deer stand huddled at the side of the creek, blending in perfectly with the naked trees and shrubs around them.  Their stance tells me they seem chilled from the rain.

I park my car up the hill and wait for my friends on a corner of downtown.  In a short time, I see them and recognize each one by their gait.  I can tell who is in the group before I can see their faces.  Brad, Pat, Arlane, Melissa and Kathy make it up the hill and meet me where I stand.  I catch their rhythm and we disappear on to the Interurban Trail.  Already running for an hour, they are wet and miserable.  I feel guilty for having dry shoes.
 
We wind our way to the edge of the ocean.  A large light shines in the distance out on the ocean, its source hidden in the misty rain.  Everyone assumes it is a boat, but no one can tell for certain.  The grey of the wet mist erases the line on the horizon separating ocean from sky; the two blend perfectly.  The ocean swallows the rain and slowly lulls the ducks on it’s waves.
 
 No one sees the puddle until its too late, the coldness taking us by surprise and we all leap, scream and splash.  I no longer have guilt or dry shoes.  I am now wholeheartedly part of the group, my initiation complete.
 
The canopy of trees does little to keep us dry.  The mist collects heavily on the tree’s branches and falls in big drops as we run underneath.  Each of our hats drip rain from the brim.  We pass time talking of Melissa’s incredibly warm trip to Texas the week before.   Each of us longing for summer and looking forward to spring arriving shortly.
 
Kathy and I turn and head back toward the city while the others forge ahead to ensure they get their mileage.  Coming off an injury, it is the first time in weeks Kathy and I run together.  We seemingly pick up right where we left off so many weeks ago.   We talk, we laugh, we make our way down the trail. 
 
The only others out in these weather conditions are fellow runners.  Each one is greeted with enthusiasm, as if we all belong to secret society of hard core endurance, or of crazy – one can’t be too sure.  Although we are soaked to the bone, the only thing we look forward to is a hot shower.

We maneuver our way through the alleyways as careful as we can to avoid the rivers of rains running through them.   It is futile and we splash through the moving water.  Our watches chirp the end of another mile and we walk the remainder few feet to the car.  Finally, it is over.
 
These are the training runs to remember.   The building of endurance comes not only in the miles but also in the conditions.  You teach your body to run further, and your mind to endure.  The sun brings heat, the clouds bring rain and we run through it all.  We may not like it, but we always appreciate it.  There are more miles to run, and we are blessed to be able to run them.  Even in the rain.

Falling Snow

The slider door closes behind me.  All is quiet.  Snowflakes fall softly from the heavens.  The ground is white now in color and makes the darkness less deep.  I press the start on my Garmin and begin my run.

The world seems asleep and silent; my breathing the only sound I hear.  Far off in the distance I see a car traveling down the road but I do not hear it.  The morning is incredibly peaceful.  A neighbor cautiously drives by and their headlights reveal what I could already feel; snow was lazily falling.

My footprints leave the only evidence of my trail.  The displaced snow on the country road I am running tell me a few of my neighbors have left for work.  The snow laden clouds part for a whisper showing me the bright quarter moon they conceal. 

Snow rests atop a mailbox perched on a weathered cedar fence post.  The fence had come down over time with a few sections still remaining.  Nails rusted past their usefulness leave cedar beams hanging precariously along the field’s edge.  The snow clings to it trying to cover the age of the fence with the newness of white.

A rabbit hopping through a field catches my eye.  He stops and watches me.   He blends in perfectly to his surroundings.  My footfalls startle a duck sleeping in the rain filled ditch and he takes to flight.  He in turn has startled me.  Within seconds I have lost sight of him in the pre-dawn morning.

At the turn around point I reverse my steps to head back for home.  Not wanting the run to end I decide to add another mile despite knowing the rest of my morning will be pressed for time.  The snow falls heavier now.  Looking down I see my footprints made at the start of my run.  I follow them feeling as if I am running in the faintest of echos.

I run to the back yard, finishing my run while pressing the stop button on my Garmin.  Drinking my water, I stand silently outdoors.  The world seemingly pauses with me, and for a brief moment the only thing being done is the watching of falling snow.