Splash, splash, splash. There was no way to avoid the inevitable. On the sidewalk, in the street, where ever I went the puddles were unavoidable.
My feet were completely soaked at the 2nd street crossing when I failed to make it over the huge puddle. Splish. My miss resulted the soaking of both feet. One foot by landed in the puddle. The other from the splash that resulted. Splash.
Since my running gloves where were among the first of the person items to be destroyed by the dog, they were limited in their ability to provide warmth. I kept the bare fingers tucked within my fist for protection. I used them to wipe the rain off my face periodically.
Raindrops feel upon me, soaking through my shirt and tights within minutes of hitting the pavement. The chill was tolerable but the rain running into my eyes was so cold that it burned. I kept on moving, reminding myself that running was good for me. Telling myself that I would be disappointed if I cut my run short, I celebrated the success of bypassing the earlier turn for home.
I cannot tell you that running felt good. That would be a lie. It can say that it was good to be running – just to be able to get out the door and start again.
In time, running may be an integral part of my life again. In time.