I’ve always loved running in the rain. Summer evening, nothing but shorts and shoes, cruising along warm and cool at the same time, feeling like superman. Or so I seem to recall.

Yesterday evening, at the end of a drizzly day, the four of us (H, J the W, sweet B in her rolling pod, and I), headed out for a little shuffle, and just as we left home the clouds burst above us. This was no summer superman rain, however. This was more of a Scottish rain, huge drops of some bitter cold heavy substance with that little extra propulsive force a good wind can provide. If it were in Scotland, and you were walking rather than running, you might say it was a Paramo rain.

But it was also a rain I was sharing with H, my favorite running companion, and we both knew B was wheeling along warm and dry. Jasper? I think he prefers it this way. So we had a fine time regardless. The only real drawback, not discovered until this morning, was that both H and I forgot to take the usual steps to make sure our shoes dried overnight. A wet and cold start for our tootsies today.

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