so not funny

Yesterday was one of those days to try my soul.

I had 16 miles on the schedule. Tons of rain in the forecast. I listened to the rain overflowing our gutters at 6 am and decided that I would wait for daylight and hope for a break in the downpour.

I quietly ate my breakfast and smiled as I realized that the rain was slowing to manageable levels.  Packed up my long run gear, donned a reflective rain jacket, and headed out the door.  Nothing to suggest that this run would shake me to my core.

About three miles in to the run, I have to run through a section of town I don't enjoy.  Freeway ramps in both directions must be crossed, but it was early on Sunday morning, and I always make sure I follow every traffic light.  Yesterday was no exception.  And of course, this is the time when the sky lets loose with another downpour. Lovely.

Still, as I waited for the walk light, I remember thinking that I felt really good 3 miles in.  Only a half marathon to go.  The walk light came on, and I started into the intersection.

I notice down the ramp that a Jeep is coming my way.  I keep my eye on him to make sure that he has seen me - you never know when someone might be talking on the cell phone or fiddling with the radio.  I'm trying to hustle across the lanes; this is a long crossing, and I hate to be in the way if someone wants to stop and turn right.

The Jeep seems to be moving pretty fast, so I probably had a look of concern on my face as he approached. Maybe this pissed him off.  Maybe he just doesn't like runners.  I don't know.  I've locked my eyes on his car.

He's now close.  Slowing up a bit.  Good, he is going to stop for his red light. I start to relax, and then he accelerates again, deliberately swerving at me so that I have to jump out of the way.  The car narrowly misses me.  And now I'm looking at him again.  He's laughing.  Laughing? Laughing!  I start screaming at him.

He barely comes to a stop, and then turns right.  I'm still yelling.  I'm angry.  I'm scared.  Shocked.  I'm sure I looked like a crazy person.

I keep running, all muscles on fire.  My heart rate has rocketed.  And then I stop for a minute and begin to sob.  Did he actually want to hit me?  Was it that funny to scare me?  Why?  I was crossing in a crosswalk in the middle of a downpour.  He had a red light. I was a mess of emotions.

And I had 13 miles to go.

I thought about calling home.  No.  He wasn't going to take this run - any run - from me.  I kept moving.  And as I kept moving, spaces in my heart opened up.  My breathing calmed.  Run long enough, and fear and anger disappears.  There is no room in your muscles for those things.

In many ways, this run was a gift. I realized more clearly why I run.  I become a better person when I do.  The miles can work magic, releasing negative emotions in their wake.  I might still be tightly angry about what happened yesterday had I cut that run short.  But I ran so much of it out that it is just a loose ache today, something to wonder at.  And that, my friends, is why I choose to run.