Running in the rain is not always pretty

Saturday morning was not pretty.

[caption id="attachment_1408" align="aligncenter" width="960"] Me with my running group...before the rain.[/caption]

I'm doing something crazy on November 2. I'm lacing up my running shoes and running a marathon with a bunch of other crazies in New York City. I've been running with a group in preparation and on Saturday, our coaches had us down for a 14-mile run in Central Park. Central Park is beautiful. Central Park is also a six-mile loop of hills, but ain't no thang. I've been running that green beast for two years, so I showed up Saturday morning ready to run two-and-a-half loops of the park - and with the crazy idea that hey, I'll throw in another two and run 16 miles. Yeah, that's what I'm going to do. (Running makes you crazy.)

But here's one thing we didn't know was coming. Rain. Pouring rain. Not just like, oh it's raining out. It was a DOWNPOUR, as if God just opened the clouds and continually dumped buckets on that park for two hours. My girlfriend and I started laughing after six miles as we trudged up a hill sloshing through rivers of water. After eight miles, we weren't laughing. We were quiet as we focused on trying to think of anything else besides feeling our toes sloshing in our socks. The fourteenth mile? My body just wanted to have a good cry. (Yeah, that 16-mile thought was saved for another day.) Oh, the best part: I wore a white bra with a white shirt. #wettshirtcontestwinner

I'm now typing this a few hours later wearing glorious sweatpants, no bra (which was pretty much how I ran errands today and I don't regret it), sipping orange juice and praying that I don't get sick. Oh, and that November 2 brings partly cloudy skies, 65 degrees and no rain. Join me in that prayer, please.