Sometimes you're in the mood for a rain walk, and sometimes your aren't. Today was one of the latter. I always come home Friday dead tired, and today was no exception. I took a short nap with Banks, woke up around 8:15 and prepared to walk. Banks had little interest; Jackson had taken him for a walk late in the afternoon, and he preferred to remain in bed.
So I walked outside, and it was drizzling. I walked down my driveway, decided I wasn't in the mood, would walk ten tomorrow, got back to the door, turned around again, said the hell with it, and kept walking. It was a weird but somehow satisfying walk. I had fallen asleep in my work clothes, and just left them on -- tight jeans and a layered top, and on this warm and humid night, they weren't comfortable. About 20 minutes in, the rain really started. I had spent so much time on my hair this morning! As always, I carried no umbrella and just let the rain fall. There was a time when I would have felt self-conscious about casually walking the streets in a downpour, but I'm resigned to the fact that at this point my neighbors and half the student body at St. Ed's must think I'm crazy.
I had a close call a few blocks from the house. It was dark, of course, and I was walking on the edge of the street where it meets the sidewalk, and mud had accumulated which I couldn't see. I felt my left leg go into an ominous slide, gasped, and somehow managed to right myself. Different scenarios kept playing out in my mind as to exactly how I might have landed, and none of them were good. Especially the one about hyperextending my left knee and shattering my elbow.
I'm home now, with my wet and heavy clothes pulled off, and into my warm and dry sleepwear. Nothing feels better than finishing a walk I didn't want to start.
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