Somewhere around 2.5 miles, I heard thunder. Just a little swishy roll somewhere in the distance. Not long after, I heard it again. More pronounced this time, starting overhead and rolling into the west, ending in a punctuated crash.
The clouds over the Hill Country were black. The wind blowing this way. Misty drizzle turned into rain. The wind turned cold.
I zipped up my jacket and took my glasses off. No problem. I had a long sleeve shirt under my running jacket. And even though the wind and rain were making my legs numb, I had gloves, so my fingers were warm.
And then, with slightly less than a mile to go, the skies opened up. I was soaked. My feet were sloshing in my shoes. My hair was lying limp against my forehead. I wondered what the people driving by thought. Crazy guy, look at him. What is he thinking?
And then, a familiar gray Suburban stopped. The driver’s side window rolled down, and Jodis stuck her hand out the window with a clenched fist held skyward. “Woo hoo! You go!” she shouted with a smile on her face. And then she drove off.
Jodis is a runner, too. But they have kids in school, so it will be years before she has that kind of luxury. The luxury to put on shoes and jacket and gloves and go out for a run not knowing how far you’ll go, not caring how long it will take, not needing to be back at any particular time.
Who cares if it thunders? Who cares if it rains? Who cares if it’s cold. Empty nest rules.