Liquid sunshine

This morning the rain was pouring. Rivers of water threatened to overwhelm the storm drains in Alexandria.

Still, I laced up for a run.

Not just any run.

My FIRST run since August. My first run since my OB doc said the cesarean stitches were healed and I could resume "normal" exercise. My first run as a new mom without my baby at my side.

I pulled on my snuggest-fitting sports bra (a recommendation from the OB). I laced up my shoes. I left a bottle of milk with Hubby and Baby. I headed out into the deluge, fully expecting to have to run-walk this foray back into the world of "real" runners.

The first few blocks felt mysteriously easy. (I credit/blame euphoria.) The rain soaked through my sleeves, and I danced around puddles to try to keep my toes dry as long as possible. Within a quarter mile I was drenched, breathing hard, and... still running.

As I passed a car idling alongside the road, I heard the driver quip - with sarcasm - to the rain-soaked women she was picking up: "Beautiful weather we're having!" One of the passengers replied, as she shook water off of her umbrella and slid into the back seat:

"Yes. Beautiful weather, indeed. The sky is full of liquid sunshine."

Liquid sunshine view from The Dock bar in Pensacola

Liquid sunshine...
... is the name of a fruity orange drink at The Dock bar on Pensacola Beach.
... is the way I felt about the rain, because I had the pavement all to myself for this first run in nearly five months.

The women may have been sarcastic in their interpretation of the weather, but to me the rain was liquid sunshine!

I laughed out loud.

Onlookers, if there had been any others out in the deluge, might have thought I was crazy.

I kept running.

I traded thumbs-ups with the one other rain-soaked runner I saw.

A sunset like more liquid sunshine

I kept running.

I reached the mile mark, still running, and welled up with tears of joy that my legs and lungs were still working. Maybe they weren't as strong or as fast as they once were. But they still worked.

I kept running.

After 20 minutes and two miles I stopped for a celebratory cup of coffee (that other liquid sunshine), and I headed for home.

My miles weren't beautiful. They weren't effortless. But they were mine.

By the time I was finished, I was soaked with rain, sweat, and salty tears.
Liquid sunshine, indeed.