Lest...

Lest I bore you with my silly contest, here's the latest from D.C. This post, the weather.

Buckets Overhead

The last few days have seen a lot of rain. After a semester in Greece, at first thought, I would have assumed that meant scattered showers that came and went. Not here.

Sure, the showers don't last all that long. But when they are here, they are something else. I'll give you two examples.

Several nights ago, I decided, with the resolution of a man witnessing his wasteline start to compete with his hands for first to touch the doorknob, to go running. Having recently pledged to begin a year-long fitness binge that would culminate in running The Half Vineman next summer, I figured what better time to start than now, when there was more evidence of my drinking habits in the size of my belly than in the legions of empty bottles scattered about our apartments.

Running shorts (aka swim trunks) donned, I set out into the dark, an hour before midnight. I had modest ambitions: to stay moving for half an hour without ripping my atrophied muscles apart. To that end, I started my run on a long, downhill slope.

My direction led me past the creek that runs near the metro station, the same creek that is flanked by grassy paths, and a bike trail. My curiosity once again sparked by the flash of fireflies, I turned of the ashpalt and into the veritable jungle.

I started on the two lane bike trail, my feet slapping against the moist pavement with a dull whump. With the road receding behind me, the noises of humanity slowly died, swallowed in the pungent miasma surrounding the creek.

To my left was the soccer field as I descended towards the creek, to my right the creek, at once friendly and foreboding. A few strides later, and the path passed away from the open field and the pavement ended. Now, just a small gravel trail, barely wide enough for my feet remained. It was then, I noticed how low the clouds were hanging overhead, wiping out the moon and stars. My pace slowed as I drew nearer the misty, black maw of the trail.

I slipped off the side of the trail, running in the weeds to quiet the padding of my feet. With a start, the trees around me burst into light as a long vine of lighting exploded into a rift of the trees. The thunder followed moments after, sounding, for all I knew, like the growling of the collective beasts hidden in the shadows.

With that, my heart quickened and my fear grew. The dark grew darker, the lighting more bright, and with every flash, the leaves drew closer to my shoulders, webs batting at my face and heavy drops striking all about me with every hint of a breeze.

My run dropped to a walk, then a shuffle, then my motion halted all together. Around me, I could scarcely make out where the trail began or ended. Behind, the last small meadow that had temporarily broken the dense treeline was a small point of gray, not even a source of light. A pair of creatures scuttled through the underbrush and a black squirrel bounded along branches shaking the foliage menacingly. Now was the moment of truth: press on bravely or retreat with my lips quivering.

I paused for a moment, steeled my nerves and...hauled ass outta there. I ran faster than a blood-doped Marion Greene or "The Duke" Cunningham from a press interview. With every flash of lightning, my yellow belly tightened and my pansy keister kicked into Cheetah speed. In less than a minute, I'd retraced all of my steps and was tearing down city streets, putting space between me and the lions, and tigers, and bears (oh geez).

My shame and my exhaustion overtook me simultaneously, leaving red-faced and with a bitter taste in my mouth (probably from all the hapless bugs that flew in front of my wailing face as I tore away). After a quick breather, I got back in the running mood and explored the 'hood, pretending to be fearless.

But the end of my run had to take me past by the creek. It was inevitable. And so, I pushed forward with quickened stride, underneath the freeway, past the metro station, and back towards the creek.

With my cowardice haunting my sense of self-worth, I paused briefly on the opposite side of the creek and plunged in on the grassy path, which looked, if possible, even more like a residence of hell-beasts than the trail on the other side of the river.

With a courage born of shame and fleetness born of fear, I ran into an explosion of light. The fireflies, which had been mostly unpresent in my hellish experience earlier, were having a spectacular jam session here. With points of light masquerading as the neon eyes of countless death, my bravado was heightened proportional to my fear. Though it may have only been a matter of seconds, it felt like hours that I stumbled down that dark path, leaping frantically with every crack of lightning o'erhead.

With pounding heart and pounding feet, I escaped the riverbottom, racing over the bridge and back up to the road. With the jubilance of one who has seen death and run faster than he, I sprinted back up towards the apartments, joy in my heart and blood rushing to my head. With every yard, the storm that had been approaching drew nearer, the lightning striking closer, the thunder following faster, and the fat, warm drops falling thicker.

As I got to the door of the building, Got himself decided to empty several million years of bathwater on Falls Church, Virginia. Exultantly, I stripped to my shorts and strode out into the divine shower that more than did the job of washing away my sweat and cleansing my soul of its shame. I've never stood in rain that fell as thick, nor drops so heavy. You could feel their pregnant weight at every impact and in a matter of seconds the ground was a universal wading pool. The thunder roared mightily, the veins of lighting seared frightfully, but I bathed delightedly in the deluge from above.