Rain Out

I woke up refreshed enough this morning to have the urge to go back to sleep, not because I needed to convalesce after throwing up on demand for two days but because I was sleepy. Vanessa is two to three days ahead of me when it comes to this particular illness. (She's years ahead of me when it comes to everything else.) She knows that once the puking stops, it's time to get out of bed and make up for lost time. After she kicked me at 5:17 AM this morning and gave me the "making up for lost time" speech, I told her that if I had to make up for lost time, I'd never make it into bed in the first place. Because it was 5:17 AM, neither one of us laughed, since it was 5:17 AM and what I said wasn't that funny. Still, I like to think she curled her lip just a little in preparation for a future Mona Lisa smile.

We have a sunroof in our bathroom that, because of the master bathroom's position in the house, rarely gets much sun. It serves other purposes. This morning, the loud striking of water on sunroof told me that rain was pouring down outside. One of the great reasons to be a baseball player for a living is that, unlike football players, we know a little mist can throw off even the most hearty umpires. Add even the threat of rain and, with few exceptions, they get all nervous. Will we get the full game in? Will we get even an official 4 1/2 inning game in? Will my underpants show through my wet butt?

I crawled back into bed. It was raining, after all. I can't play in this. Got a leg kick less than two seconds after hitting the sheets. Here's what happened:

Me: Ouch.
Vanessa: Get up.
Me: It's raining.
Vanessa: I don't care.

Vanessa would have been one of those umpires that insists ball be played until Noah's Ark floated over the Jumbotron looking for two volunteers from each team. (Even God picks All Stars.)

I took another kick, this one to the shin, and rolled out of bed again. Angry with my wife for being strong and capable and a better spouse than me at this point in our marriage, I yanked my pre-chosen running clothes off of the top of the TV and stomped out of the room, careful not to disturb her. I avoided most of the creaky parts of the floor except the big one near the door. As referenced earlier, she's years ahead of me in just about everything. Maturity included.

Outside, the rain poured down. Since I can't run with an umbrella, I took one deep, healthy breath and started, submerging my left foot into a puddle on step #2. Not a good way to begin any exercise period. I considered retreating back inside but assumed Vanessa, in all of her damned wisdom, had rigged some sort of mechanism that would land a mannequin's foot on my thigh, creating a temporary Charlie Horse of epic proportions (and since it's just a mannequin foot, I can only guess the rest of the mannequin's proportions). I put one foot in front of the other - in homage to claymation Christmas TV specials - and began a "light" jog. Remember, I'd been releasing toxic sludge out of my mouth for the past two days. Anything stronger than "light" and the rain would have had to fall into a giant IV bag connecting to my empty veins.

Few cars on the road. The Monday after any holiday, even if the holiday was 4 days previous, is always one of the toughest Mondays of the year. Who wants to put the joy and kinship of the previous 4 days behind them to rejoin their real-world struggles answering phones or answering bosses or running in the pouring rain at 5:29 in the AM time?

Funny thing. I did. After about a half mile, I was completely soaked. Getting wet is tough, but once you're inundated with moisture, you no longer care. It was clear to me that my underpants were showing through my butt, but the cool morning air felt good rushing down my esophagus. The slap of rain against my face became war paint. I haven't worn my game face since last April. I didn't really wear it today. But I came close. A bit of game time intensity pushed its way through the depressed lethargy in my psyche. I could say I felt alive this morning, almost for the first time in 6 months, but I don't want to jinx it. It doesn't rain every morning, and in a couple weeks this could all be snow. Even the heartiest umpires, like my wife, wouldn't force me out running at 5:17 AM in the driving snow.

Right?