When I went to college, I went without a rain jacket.
About 35 hours into our 41 hour drive, just as my mother and I crossed the threshold to the region that could really be called the East, we were greeted by a wall of raucous, pouring sheets of rain. Rivers flooded, cars pulled over, chaos ensued.
I had never seen rain like that. Most of my life, “rain” lasted a maximum of 25 minutes. It got you wet if and only if you stood in it for the entire 25 minutes. In fact, that summer, I hadn’t seen any form of precipitation for…wait for it…108 days.
I bought a rain jacket.
What I’ve seen in the last two weeks makes that day in New York look like a measly drizzle. I’ve seen it rain cats, dogs, buckets, pitchforks and hammers (everything but men). I’ve sung in the rain, danced in the rain and written several rain checks.
As I drove home a couple of nights ago, I sat centimeters from the windshield, squinting to see through the deluge to distinguish between the road and the small bodies of water forming on it. The only thing that kept me from pulling over was the incessant siren beaming from the flash flood warning on my phone (they do that now, other things I’d never experienced). Don’t worry. I found high ground. SMS T2 has a new community service initiative: building an ark.
One thing I have noticed, however, is that folks here don’t let a little weather rain on their parade (you like what I did there?)
Barring lightning, we’ve tackled every workout with just as much enthusiasm (maybe more) as if it were a clear day. Running. Rollerskiing. Biking. The muddier you get, the better the session. People pay for Tough Mudders, we just step out our back door.
Two years ago, I didn’t know the difference between a sprinkle and a torrent. Today, I unapologetically quote my girl Jo Dee Messina by saying:
Bring on the rain.