Good Things Come to Those Who Rain (Run)

I woke up to rain and my heart sank. It took significant coaxing to get myself out of bed, to pick clothes that balanced insulation without providing too much material that would ultimately wind up drenched just the same. 38 degrees and raining. But as I drove up the canyon, the beauty of an April rain run returned to me. By the time I got to the parking lot, I was already excited.

I was exploring a new trail, and I took my time on the way up, stopping to soak in the misty views and gorgeous wildflowers. I heard wild turkeys in the distance, their gobbles echoing sharply in the crisp air. I watched a deer run off into the brush. I listened to the patter of rain and the flitting songbirds. A robin let out a bright call exactly as I ran below, and it felt like the world was singing me awake into life.

When I was younger, I was so deeply confident in what rainy runs had to offer that my first instinct was to celebrate. I guess the years in between have added context that makes me more suspicious. Still, the memory of that confidence got me out the door and into the parking lot. The magic of the mountain took things from there.

Today was 6 miles with 560 ft elevation gain. It was muddy and wild and beautiful. Peeling myself out of bed was worth it to be there as the rain showered her gifts down, alone in the mountains to soak it all in.