Tag: running in the rain

Posted on

How a Rainy Run and No AC Made My Monday Better

Written July 7, 2025

Hello Dear Readers,

Another night of glorious sleep had me waking up like a Disney character—refreshed, energized, and only slightly disappointed that I couldn’t quite hit my target running pace. Close, but not close enough to brag about. Still, a win’s a win when your legs cooperate and your lungs don’t stage a mutiny.

This morning started off with a drama courtesy of a tropical storm in Texas, which has been tap dancing its way from Texas toward Tennessee. By the time I laced up my running shoes, the skies were already getting weepy. And as soon as I hit the road—boom! Rain. Like nature’s own personal sprinkler system just for me.

Oddly enough, the downpour was kind of a gift. The temperature dropped like it had read my mind (or my sweat levels), and suddenly, everything felt a bit more breathable. I had taken Sunday off to recharge my energy reserves, and it worked—I felt stronger than I did on Saturday. Still not quite fast enough for a personal best, but hey, progress isn’t always linear. Some days you fly, some days you just coast gracefully.

While I was out dodging puddles, my wife was already deep in productivity mode. She left for work before I even opened my eyes—off to the office by 6:45 a.m. like a mission-critical ninja. Since most of her work can be done remotely, she reserves in-office time for the essentials: high-stakes meetings, actual paper (remember that stuff?), and anything requiring physical presence. Today, her calendar was packed, so she left even earlier than usual. No morning coffee chat for us. Tragic.

Back at home, the rain was doing more than watering plants—it was cooling our house like nature’s own HVAC system. Nashville summers are no joke. Our roof and bricks tend to absorb heat like they’re preparing for a sauna competition, but once the rain starts, the house’s internal temperature drops surprisingly fast. I seized the moment: windows open, fans on, and a delightful breeze circulating like I’m living in a country cottage ad.

Now, here’s the twist—I’ve actually adapted to the heat. Our house can hover around 85°F (just under 30°C), and as long as ceiling fans are spinning, I don’t feel like I’m melting into the floor. The humidity here makes it feel warmer than it is, but dropping the house temp to around 80°F feels like an arctic treat. Bonus: I no longer feel like I’ve been smacked by a heatwave when I step outside for a run or to tackle the yard. The gentle indoor-outdoor transition keeps my body from going into temperature shock.

Meanwhile, my wife’s office is basically a walk-in freezer. She told me the overachieving AC is giving her headaches—probably from the temperature whiplash. So, keeping things mellow at home helps her recover from the Great Arctic Office Experience.

As for me, I’m looking forward to a pleasantly mild afternoon and evening. Rain-cooled walls, open windows, and a happily running ceiling fan—no complaints here.

Posted on

Rain, Retrievers, and the Relentless Runner: How I Beat the Odds (But Not My Pace Time)

Written May 30, 2025

Hello Dear Readers,

The last few weeks, I’ve been running like a champ—clocking solid times, striding with purpose, and imagining myself as the hero of my own underdog sports movie. This morning, though, the sky had other ideas. I was fired up for a speedy 5km, but Nashville had slipped into one of its gray, brooding moods again.

Storms and surprise rain showers have been far more clingy this year than last. Thunderstorms seem to schedule themselves precisely during my outdoor activities, as if the weather has a grudge against cardio and lawn maintenance. Just last Sunday, rain washed out our planned Sunday walk with my wife, and I’m still a little bitter about it.

Still, I usually run through rain unless lightning is doing jazz hands in the sky. Today was no different. The skies were just moody, not angry, so I laced up. It wasn’t raining when I started—but, of course, a few minutes in, it let loose. No thunder, though, so I kept running like a soggy but determined penguin.

Then, during a quick water break, I paused my running app. Classic move. But I forgot to restart it. The rain, apparently not satisfied with merely soaking me, also decided to sabotage my tech game. By the time I noticed, I had already run quite a bit—off the grid. I was more annoyed than I care to admit, not just at the weather, but at myself.

And just when I thought I’d had my quota of morning mayhem, cue the canine cameo: a golden retriever, furious at the sight of me running (again), snapped free from the little girl walking him and charged. That’s right—a golden retriever. Not a Doberman. Not a Rottweiler. Lassie’s less-friendly cousin. Apparently, I’m his chosen nemesis in the neighborhood.

When I asked my wife if the dog always did this, she blinked and said, “He’s never done it to me while I was running before.” Fantastic. So this retriever has made me his personal vendetta. I didn’t fancy a sprint-fueled showdown, so I slowed down and zigzagged my way to safety, which tanked my pace at that corner.

All in all, today’s run was a mess. Wet, tech-glitched, dog-stalked. My precious pace time was wrecked. But then I realized—I still ran. I did the thing. Sure, I didn’t set a personal record, but I moved, I sweated, and I kept my promise to myself.

I’ve been focusing a lot lately on staying healthy—not just for fitness goals or vanity metrics, but for deeper reasons. My kidneys need care. My brain needs healing. So I hydrate religiously, eat mindfully, train my muscles, and yes, even run through rogue weather and canine ambushes.

My wife says we become what we focus on. If I focus too much on the mishaps, the missed pace, the muddy shoes—I’ll become the guy who grumbles through life. But if I pay attention to progress, to the act of showing up despite setbacks, then maybe I will become something better. She’s probably right. (She usually is.)

Today, I didn’t hit my target pace. But I ran. I moved through the rain. I dodged a golden missile. And I even threw in some bonus distance to make up for the paused app.

At the end of the day, I did the work my body needed. And that, my friends, is what counts.

Posted on

Rain, Hills, and High Hopes: A (Postponed) Summer Running Kickoff

Written April 21, 2025

Hello Dear Readers,

Last night, I was ready. I laid out my running clothes like a ritual sacrifice to the gods of summer fitness. My pre-run pastry bites were perfectly staged (because who runs on an empty stomach unless they’re being chased?). Today was supposed to be the glorious start of my summer running schedule.

Then morning happened.

I woke to the melodic sound of rain hammering the roof like it had a personal vendetta, and a temperature drop that made me question if we’d time-traveled back to March. So much for best-laid plans—and best-laid leggings.

Now, don’t get me wrong. Today is my designated running day. But Mother Nature seems to be doing interval training with thunderclouds. Ever since moving to a place where summer mornings feel like a furnace on “broil” by 9 a.m., I’ve learned to schedule anything that requires outdoor movement to happen at sunrise—just like my wife does with her daily cardio. It’s Nashville. Sometimes it hits 100°F (38°C), and that’s not a typo—that’s a sauna with streetlights.

But let’s pivot to my other nemesis: lawn mowing. Yes, it’s still chilly, and yes, the grass doesn’t care. It just keeps growing like it’s in a competition with the weeds. Now, mowing may sound simple, but when your lawn resembles a ski slope and your mower is a plug-in sidekick, it becomes a workout worthy of its own medal. Add in my lovely post-stroke body’s struggle to regulate temperature, and let’s just say timing is everything. I try to mow when it’s neither “frozen fingers” cold nor “eggs-cook-on-the-sidewalk” hot.

My wife, by the way, used to tackle that steep hill with a manual push mower. No electricity. No mercy. She’d split the task across the week like it was a strategic battle plan. Eventually, logic (and probably her arms) persuaded her to upgrade to an electric push mower. Still, even with that upgrade, the hill doesn’t quit. I now spend around 6–7 hours per week mowing, but don’t worry—I break it into shifts. I’m not that much of a lawn martyr.

Back to today: it’s mid-April, and yet the air still has that “early March in denial” vibe. Just a few weeks ago we were flirting with 85°F, and now I’m wrapped in fleece debating cardio logistics. The rain’s left the yard squishy, the kind of squishy that makes mowing feel like dragging a sled through pudding.

So here I am, toggling between my weather app and the breakfast table, waiting for a possible break in the rain. Will I run today? Maybe. The app promises a one-hour window, but I don’t trust it. It’s like a flaky friend who always shows up late… if at all. So yes—chilly rain, mushy grass, and my stubborn thermoregulation convinced me to do the only reasonable thing: I had breakfast, postponed everything, and officially declared tomorrow the new start of my summer schedule. Because sometimes, the best cardio move is a strategic retreat.

Posted on

Rain, Rogue GPS, and the Mysterious Vanishing Kilometers

Written February 16, 2025

Hello Dear Readers,

Some runs feel like a victory lap. Others? A battle against the elements, technology, and one’s own patience. Yesterday’s run firmly belonged in the latter category.

It all started with rain. Not the cinematic kind, where you look heroic, sprinting through a storm with determination in your eyes. No, this was the persistently annoying variety—too light to justify quitting but steady enough to be irritating. I ran anyway, determined to get my usual 10k in. The universe, however, had other plans.

About halfway through, I glanced at my running app and noticed something was off. It had only logged one kilometer. One. I had covered at least five. I stopped, restarted the app, and, like any stubborn runner with a love-hate relationship with technology, decided to run another 5k just to make sure the second half was tracked correctly. It worked—sort of. The second 5k showed up fine, but the first half of my run had been swallowed into the digital abyss, never to be seen again. And just like that, my running records were now permanently haunted by a mysterious missing 4k.

Curious (and mildly exasperated), I looked into why this happened. Turns out, GPS signals don’t always play nice with rain. While light rain doesn’t do much, heavier rain can scatter the signals enough to make devices struggle. That explained my app’s refusal to acknowledge half my workout. The logic makes sense, but it doesn’t make it any less frustrating when you’re staring at an incomplete run in your stats.

Now, if you ask my wife, she’d say I shouldn’t even be looking at the daily numbers. “Look at the long-term progress,” she always tells me. “People get discouraged when they fixate on single-day stats. That’s how they end up quitting.” She had to learn that lesson the hard way—being results-driven meant she used to stress over every little fluctuation. Me? Not so much. I like having numbers, but I don’t let them dictate my mood. Still, I see her point. If a missing 4k had the power to make or break my commitment to running, I probably wouldn’t have lasted this long.

At the end of the day, my legs still got their workout, my heart still did its thing, and the health benefits remained intact—regardless of what my app said. It’s a minor annoyance, sure, but it’s not like my fitness depends on perfect tracking. That being said, I won’t pretend I wasn’t tempted to manually add the missing kilometers just to restore my stats. I resisted. (Barely.)

So, the moral of the story? Rain happens. Technology fails. And sometimes, you just have to run another 5k out of sheer stubbornness. But in the grand scheme of things, what matters isn’t a missing stat—it’s the habit, the discipline, and the fact that I got out there in the first place. And if I ever need proof, my sore legs will be more than happy to remind me.