Rainmaker

June 15, 2015

Greetings from between the drops,

I stood staring at the window, cup of coffee in my hand, willing it to change.  It was not an action based in meteorological science.  But the weather was not cooperating with my plans, and hydrotelekinetics was all I had at my disposal.

Other than running in the rain.

The rain bullied the gutters until they gave up and let the water do what it chose.  It crashed onto my deck with Niagara intensity, foaming up in small breakers and racing to the edge to seek more accommodating surfaces. I watched the downpour and considered a plan B.

Inside where I was dry I knew that I had to take off my regular human thinking and put on my runner’s version.  Where you don’t consider how wet you might get.  Where I live runners plow through snow, run in mud, slog through sleet.  A little rain won’t matter much. There are no bad conditions, just inappropriate clothing.  The only mile you regret is the one you don’t run.  Time to lace up and go. 

Those were the words that got me dressed to run. I stood at my doorway and looked at the rain.  It was a shower curtain. The pavement was alive with water.  Somewhere to the west thunder impersonated a Lou Rawls chuckle. Hmm. 

I teetered between plans and then tipped forward.  I stepped into the wall of water and set off to run.  I did not melt.  It seemed as though there was no space between the rain drops, that there should be no room for air, but I did not drown.  I ran down my street and off to see twelve miles.

Within a hundred yards I could not have been any wetter.  It was a warm morning, and the rain was comfortable, an introduction to summer.  Under my hat I had this ironic sense of sanctuary, covered from the storm, the rain dripping off my brim, while the rest of my body was coated in water, pelted by the tempest.

As soon as I relaxed about running in the rain, it no longer mattered that I was wet.  After a mile the rain was not an obstacle, it was a companion.  I splashed along the shoulder listening to the rain on the trees like the roar of a faraway crowd.   The branches sagged with the extra weight, a minor burden, part of the partnership.

I turned out into the farmland, the road lined with rivers of water filling the ditches, forming ponds in the yards between the fields.  Creeks laced between rows of beans or corn or whatever was waiting to become something from the green buds.

It was light enough to see the storm now. The sky was already grey with clouds, but on the horizon there was a darker, more ominous shape.  It was a muscular, aggressive thing, moving lower on the horizon to more effectively deliver its load.

Thunder rumbled.  I thought about lightning, spent a fraction of a second calculating the odds, then discarded the math and thought about running faster.  It rained until there was no separation between me and the water.  I stopped being in the rain. I parted puddles, soaked now, no longer a visitor in the element, but a part of it. 

It was a storm with character, so much more intentional than a random falling of water.  The raindrops hit the pavement with such force they bounced into the air and met their cousins on their way down, a chaotic rain dance. 

Out in the open now I could see more of the storm working its way across the sky, see the shape of it, the change in the waves of rain.  I knew a minute before that the deluge would shift to mist, and then back to the warm shower I had been running in. 

The philosopher in the runner asked: I wonder if raindrops are as individual as snowflakes. Is there a lesson in each drop, or only in the shape of the storm?  The runner in the philosopher answered; pick up the pace.

A few cars went by, chased by plumes of water.  They sent curls of surf over me; in some drier circumstance it would have been catastrophic, but I was running in the rain in a pair of drenched shorts, not waiting on a corner in a tuxedo.

There is a freedom in running in the rain.  I figured out that it is a matter of acceptance.  It occurred to me that this was like a lot of challenges, never as bad as you imagine.  And once you are in it, you choose whether you will enjoy it or resent it.  And then whatever happens is your making. 

Circumstances will rarely align in an ideal confluence.  More often we are presented with opportunities to adapt, for innovation, to apply courage, determination and perseverance.  We can wait for life to get better, or we can run toward it, no matter the forecast, and see what our best is made of.

Hope this finds you racing in the rain,

David