Fool in the rain

In case you haven't noticed, it's raining, and it will be for several more days. This frustrates many runners. I am no exception.

Rain is the only weather condition that really stifles my training. I don't like the heat or the humidity, but if I run early or (far more likely) late in the day, it's not an issue. On the other end of the thermometer, I actually enjoy running in the cold, provided there's no wind. The air seems more still, and there tend to be far fewer folks outside; both factors evoke a sort of peace that's much easier to experience than to describe. I don't even mind running when it's snowing, so long as it's safe, I'm in no danger of getting hit by a plow, and the air is cold enough to produce light, fluffy snow that won't weigh me down. (I should point out that my fiancée, equally more logical and sane than I, tends to successfully nullify any effort I make to run in the snow.)

For some reason, though, I hate running in the rain. A couple weeks ago, I tried to sneak out for a quick 30-minute run before the ominous clouds overhead could burst open. Less than a mile from home, the downpour began. By the time I got home, my shirt, shorts, and socks had all absorbed so much rain that I had to ring them out before tossing them in the wash. That was gross. Fortunately, I had thought ahead and had laced up an older pair of shoes, lest I ruin the new pair I had only recently broken in.

Any decent therapist would ask if there's some repressed childhood memory that's triggered when it begins to rain. There isn't. Ironically, two of my most despised high school cross country workouts involved not rain but snow -- needing an hour to trudge through foot-deep snow on our 3.1-mile home course and, a couple seasons later, running repeat quarters on a snow-covered track. (Our coach called them "snotters." I was not amused.) On the other hand, my only memory of running in the rain was a midsummer run cut short because of a downpour -- and I didn't even mind, because I was home in time for the first pitch of the baseball All-Star Game, back when I cared about that sort of thing.

Perhaps it's not the act of running in the rain that I abhor so much as the aftermath -- the aforementioned smelly clothes, the streaks of mud on the legs, the hair in the face. Since, you know, I have a shower, a washing machine, and above all the health and good fortune to be able to run in the first place, perhaps I shouldn't really complain, either. No matter. Until the sun comes out, I'll be hitting the treadmill, the stationary bike, and the weights -- anything to avoid being a fool running in the rain.