We dropped the kids off at our next door neighbor's house, and drove a few miles to the trail head. As we left, it started to rain, a nice forty degree drizzle.
By the time we left the neighborhood, it was coming down steady. The car shifted a little bit on the road.
"Is that the wind pushing the car?" My wife asked.
"No, I'm just not steering good," I lied. I was trying to get mentally prepared, and she was trying to get me to agree to call off our ten mile run.
The rain came down harder, as if trying to prove a point. She looked at me, concern evident in her eyes.
"It just sounds like that because we're driving fast," I lied. My mental preparedness was getting stronger.
We parked at the trail head. It's about 13 miles in total, along the Olentangy River. All we had to do was run 5 miles (then turn around and come back).
The rain slowed to a drizzle right before we started, which is good because otherwise we would have driven to Starbucks and sipped coffee while our kids were next door with their friends. But alas, we were determined to do it, and do it we did.
It was hell.
I was surprised at how many other insane people were out running, too. There must be something in the water around here.
So now I'm sitting here, writing an abnormally long and detailed blog post, simply because I am afraid to stand up, let alone walk any distance. It's not that I want to be here, but I am more or less trapped. The last time I straightened my left leg my knee crackled and popped in what I am certain was Morse Code for "do that again and I will kill you. And your toes will help me do it."