"I'm not the same since there's rain in my head..."
If running can be a metaphor for life - and I think it can - then pushing past comfort zones on the trail may very well instruct one on pushing past boundaries in real life.
Today was one of those metaphorical runs; I didn't run more than 6.3 miles, and it wasn't anywhere as physically challenging as this past Saturday's 12 miler. Yet, the sky was slate grey and pouring down a steady chilling rain, and the wind was lashing against my face and all I wanted was a hot bath, and good book.
"Is this dedication or madness," I pondered while lacing up my shoes, tugging up my jacket zipper.
Neither.
Yes there was temporary discomfort in that first quarter mile, but once I warmed up I found my rhythm, my lungs opened, drops of rain brushed my lips, my form locked down, and I was smiling.
(Do you smile when you run?)
Soaked to the bone I headed on home.
I'd pushed past my body's clamoring to be warm & dry, and I'd found what brings me back to that beginning point every day: if "I" get out of the way, something instinctual and empowered takes over, and in the end I lose my perceptions of what I can or can't do, and I find myself with a big silly grin plastered on my face. Here's to running in the rain, snow, sleet, wind, sun, light & dark!

Rain

I opened my eyes

And looked up at the rain,

And it dripped in my head

And flowed into my brain,

And all that I hear as I lie in my bed

Is the slishity-slosh of the rain in my head.

I step very softly,

I walk very slow,

I can't do a handstand--

I might overflow,

So pardon the wild crazy thing I just said--

I'm just not the same since there's rain in my head.

-Shel Silverstein