Oh, Running through the Woods, How I've Missed You

Mark had an excellent idea this morning about taking the kiddies out to the Whitewater Center and letting me run free on the trails. I decided to say to heck with my physical malaise and jumped at the opportunity.

Five minutes before we arrived the rain started to fall, and I was beginning to think our morning of trail running, and letting Heath and Stella get the wild willies out of themselves, wasn't going to happen. But the Trail Status green flags flew high, and the nice fella at the parking check-in said he been not been told they would be closing, so on we went.

I took off into the woods as quickly as I could and immediately realized that this was exactly what I needed for my recent mental funk. Once again, I had no idea where I was, or where I was going, and I couldn't have cared less. But as I trotted along, wooden bridges, tree stumps, trail crossings started to look familiar from my race.

The rain began to fall steadier, and there was no doubt about it, I was officially getting soaked. Once again, I did not pack rain gear for the kids and started to wonder about their welfare. I was reminded that Mark is quite capable of getting them in out of the rain, not to mention the fact that they are not all opposed to getting wet.

The trails were rapidly becoming soupy, squelch-squerch, shoe-sucking puddles. I'd been at it for thirty minutes and had run into one woman running with her two dogs, and a turtle the size of my head. At this point I also realized that I hadn't seen a trail sign for quite some time either. I kept cruising along, happily splish! splash! splosh! in the mud.

Then boom! crack! sizzle! crashed the thunder and a searing, bright bolt of lightening. I thought, this is it. I'm running in the world's largest puddle and lightening is going to come zooming down to get me. I picked up my legs and the pace, and ran like a wild woman full speed ahead. But where am I? Where am I going? I don't know. I just ran like a maniac.

I kept waiting for a whistle, or a chopper, or someone official to come tell me (possibly yell at me) that I have to come in because the trails are closed. But no whistle was blown. No lifeguards came calling. Eventually I saw the back of a trail sign and a clearing. Turns out I'd been running on the Trail of Joy, backwards. The Trail Status red closed flags waving in the air, I continued on to find my sure-to-be-drowning husband and children.

They were with the rest of the folks seeking cover, under the main entrance roof. Yes, they were soaked. Yes, they had made lots of friends to splash in the puddles. And yes, they had big smiles and lots of tales for me about the time they heard the thunder and saw the lightening at the Whitewater Center.

Just the kind of morning we needed.