I ran.
It was raining. Cold rain.
My sweatshirt and pants got soaked through. My shoes were so wet that they squished when I walked, and I had to wring out the insoles, leaving mudstains in my shower.

Some people dance in the rain. I prefer to run.

Running in the rain is incredible. It makes me feel.. so free.

It's quiet, except for the thumping and splashing of my feet and the grating of my breath. The rain provides a semi-curtain like fog does, and makes everything look and smell and sound different, making me feel like a little kid in my kitchen chair-and-bed sheet fort.

I wanted to kick off my shoes, like we used to do on rainy days during cross-country practice, and run barefoot, but I had to run over gravel and didn't particularly want the water flowing down the street to acquire a red tint. So I compromised by running through every single muddy puddle on the path for the last half-mile.

People think distance running is this.. thing where everybody is tight, and strong, and so self-controlled. And maybe that's true. But it's also the sport where you can act like a little kid again runnin as fast as you can for the hell of it, for the adrenaline and the wind on your face and the trees blurring and the amazing rush. It's the sport where you can go streaking and not get arrested. It's the sport where you can run through mud puddles and get soaked and filthy and covered in dirt, and you're grinning from ear to ear at the end of it, and everyone thinks you're incredibly hardcore.

There is, as far as I know, no greater sense of accomplishment than in setting out to run 6 miles and doing so despite cramps and blisters and cold and heat and a raspy throat and muscle fatigue. Or in training for months and finally, when it comes time to race, pushing yourself until your muscles cramp and burn, til you can barely breathe, til you feel sick, and beating everybody else, or yourself, knowing you did the best you could possibly do. Or in doing like I did today, going out when you aren't sure you want to, and allowing yourself to be lulled into the rhythm of your body and the earth and the air and the rain, running 3 miles and feeling like you could do twice that many, letting yourself get sucked into the giddiness and wonder you felt looking at the big, crazy world when you were younger.

When I finished my run, I went in and took a shower. Even though I wasn't running anymore, my sense of wonder and happiness stuck with me. I fully appreciated the feeling of slightly-too-hot water running down my neck, and the feeling of the cool air outside the bathroom on my feverishly hot skin (from the too-hot water) when I opened the door.

It stuck with me in the wonder and amazement over the fine-tuning of my body when I ate dinner (twice.. running burns a hell of a lot of calories), and now sitting here typing this.

I finished running around 4:45. It is now past 11:30, and the buzz has yet to wear off. Something to think about.