There was a time not that long ago, if a hint of rain was expected, I’d never leave the house. My iPhone frequently warns me showers are imminent poking my acute phobia about getting wet in its side.
Like Carmela, the Basset Hound, I HATE it. To be damp and squeaky, your tights clinging making you resemble licorice leaving imaginary dye along your thighs.
However, in her twilight years things have changed.
I suit up like a Navy Seal and head to the park ready to do battle with any cloud.
Take this morning when I came downstairs my doorman bleating caution…it’s gonna storm. I wouldn’t go if I were you.
Yet, with my hoodie in place, I took off in a sprint determined to run my 4 miles even if the monsoons came.
There were few Seals out there, but those who were had their hoodies up sparing with Mother Nature who I believe likes when you go toe-to-toe.
That’s when she cuts you a break, because though misty and cool, a wetness in the air like a coming attraction, the skies didn’t open until I was safely back in my door, worked out breathless and dry…
all hoodies up.