As a native New Englander, I am baffled and amused by many Californians’ reactions to inclement weather. If you’ve never been to Northern California in “winter,” you’ll have to take my word for the fact that the majority of people here completely lose their shit as soon as the first drop of precipitation hits the ground. Mostly I just chuckle to myself when I hear folks hemming and hawing about how cold and miserable it is outside- I’m from Massachusetts for goodness sake– but one thing to which I cannot turn a blind eye is the quantity of ridiculously, terrible drivers I’m surrounded by when it (gasp) rains.
I’m not exaggerating at all when I tell you that people totally forget how to operate a motor vehicle once there is wet stuff falling from the sky. For example, yesterday’s 10.4 mile round trip jaunt to drive my son to high school took me close to an hour. Seriously, I could have run him there and back in less time (except that it was pouring and windy and he would have had to spend the day chilled to the bone in rain-soaked clothes and I’m too good of a mother to do that to him). With all of those minutes spent sitting unmoving in the car, I had plenty of time to try and talk myself out of the 6 mile run I had previously planned for the morning.  I was very close to being persuaded  on the way there, but during the 30+ minute drive home my amusement with silly California drivers snapped in to something between annoyance and anger.  I bellowed a bunch of choice  profanities (which luckily no one could hear) as I battled both the traffic and the urge to jump out of my skin.  “What the hell is wrong with these people?! Move!  *@#&$%@!  Drive!  Argggggggghhh!”

Being someone who takes great pride in her (relative) robustness, I then became irate with myself.  “What the hell is wrong with you?! How could you even consider letting a little rain and wind stop you from taking a run?  Up until six years ago, you were logging miles in frigid temperatures AND snow!  You are really losing your edge, girlfriend!!!”  When I finally reached my neighborhood, the sky had wholly opened up.  I knew that time was of the essence and that deliberation was not an option (because as I’ve mentioned in previous posts,  I can be very convincing).  I quickly grabbed an oldish pair of shoes from the sneaker shelf in the garage which CMB and I share.  I laced up as I zipped myself in to my magenta rain jacket, topping off the ensemble with a bright orange mesh cap.  “Don’t want to get hit by a car, VJB!” I reminded myself, bolting out the door.

It seems I had forgotten a few things about running in the rain, since last year.  First and foremost, my magenta rain jacket is water resistant, NOT waterproof.  Secondly, no show running socks don’t stay put when they’re very, very wet.  Those bitches slipped down my feet in to the toe box of my shoes almost immediately.  Third, it’s kind of creepy and apocalyptic .  On a normally populated route, I saw only 2 people and they were walking their dogs under gigantic umbrellas.  But once I got over all that and settled in to the reality of this run, I had an OK time cruising along and observing my path from a different vantage point (the dripping brim of my hat).  And the second that the loose, wispy braid genially bouncing on my neck transformed in to a rain-drenched rope relentlessly slapping me in the face, I definitely picked up my pace just to get the hell home already.

The fourth, and possibly most profound, thing I had forgotten is this- while I definitely have grown accustomed to my cushy California life, I’m still a gritty Masshole at heart.

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