There are days when owning our own business is pretty gratifying. Long lunches for a picnic, spontaneous trips out of town and bringing the dog to work are fun perks. Today is not one of those days, it is after 8pm and we have been here since the weekly meeting at 8am. “Chop chop Leo, I really want to run before it gets too dark!” He is bogged down in processes and paperwork, trying to wrap up – his job is really never finished. We finally manage to get the computers shut down and the place locked up and head home under a setting sun. We make a plan, “I’ll get the dog out and feed both pets, you just get dressed and get going – you’re running the dirt road, right? K, I’ll just run hill sprints the other direction.” He’s crazy, have I mentioned that? Because he is. Hill sprints? Yes, and OUCH. We live in somewhat of a valley, so there are steep hills readily available in all directions, I run them because they cannot be avoided, Leo runs them because he is intent on being as fit as possible; quite admirable. Crazy, but admirable.

So I dash inside, throw on my running gear, grab my portable radio and head out while he pacifies the manic dog and vocal feline. With an eye on the sun, I grab Leo’s super little flashlight and strap it on my wrist.  I’m not even out of the subdivision when I realize lack of light is going to be a big issue. My favorite run down the dirt road is devoid of street lights and full of twists, turns and slopes. While it makes for entertaining jogs, it also makes it incredibly dangerous in the dark. By the time I reach my dirt road I know I can’t safely run the woods, I continue on the paved road, running a route I haven’t before. The radio spins mindless drivel and pop music in my ear as I head nearly straight uphill. This is why I don’t run this road, it requires a heavy gas pedal in the car and I am still working to run over a mile before my wind runs out and I have to walk. I convince myself to keep running to the big rock halfway up the hill. Made it, ok, now run to the bend in the road, check, ok now to the stop sign at the top, miraculously I am still running as the road levels out and I decide to shoot for the stop sign at the next road where I will turn back toward home.

The sidewalk here has very minor dips and turns and is mostly covered by trees. Traffic is light and I feel pretty good as I break out from under the trees to run the last couple hundred yards to my turn around. Drip. Is that rain? It rained earlier but it looked pretty clear. Drop. Drip. Yep, rain, but it’s light and I’m hot so I welcome the break. I am now in the wide open and breathing hard as I pile through the last few feet to the corner.

Cue downpour.

I could turn around and head back under the trees but it seems pretty futile, I am a long way from home and guaranteed to get soaked no matter what. I keep pace to the sign and turn back while swiping my rain and sweat-soaked bangs off my forehead. I grin, it’s actually pretty entertaining and my body temperature is rapidly lowering to a normal range as my shoes begin to squelch with each stride. The rain hammers down with drops the size of Spanish olives.

“Run Momma.”

Every once in a while my subconscious will whisper in my ear, a note of encouragement when I might get lazy or tired. It only ever says those two words; they are enough.

I smile at the little voice, “I’m on it kiddo.”

We’re back under the trees which provide little shelter against the beating rain. My clothes stick to me and my shoe comes untied. I stop and lace it up, and give my ragged breath a break walking a few yards. I flash my light as I cross the street and head back down the hill. It’s dark, but traffic is light. The sidewalk on the steep downhill is cobblestone and I use the light to make sure I don’t trip as I resume my steady jog. It shines bright and steady at my feet as I muse whether or not I can make it back to our sub without walking again. At the bottom of the hill I cross my dirt road again shining the light at my feet to make myself visible to passing motorists.

Back around the bend I go, feet beating a regular rhythm as my little radio surpisingly keeps belting tunes into my ears. The rain is steady now, less intense but no sign of ending. The front of my shirt and pants are wet through but I am warm enough and beginning to push myself to run further than ever. Past the Spanish style mansion with the pool house and around the large pond I am running the last slight incline into our subdivision, but I don’t want to cool down yet so I push my tired legs to go further. “Make it through the first two stop signs,” I tell myself, “then you can walk the rest of the way.” Puddles are unavoidable, even shining Leo’s trusty light and with a giant splash my shoes officially weigh more than my feet. They squish, squish, keeping time while the incline toward our home taunts me to make it to my goal without walking. One stop sign down and I know I can make it to the next. There is a small river on the side of the road where I run, I wonder if the current could knock me off my exhausted feet and carry me into the sewer. Only a few steps more, gasping and wheezing I finish my run and slow to a walk as I count the steps in the last quarter mile to my dry and comfy couch. Headlights pierce the rain from the opposite direction; it’s my Jeep. “You want a ride?” Leo is driving, soaked and worried about his wife. “I’m fine, I’m so wet I’d rather just walk.”

I like that last bit of walking. It readies me to re-enter the world. It’s the end of my alone time, my time with the little whisper in my head and my solace when reality is just too much. I couldn’t get any wetter, so there’s no point in cutting it short.

“We made it kiddo,” I tell the little whisper as I head up our driveway to peel off my drenched garments in the garage. “We made it.”