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The November storm comes on strong, at first a pattering of rain and then, within the hour, a chill downpour. The weather map shows that north of us the storm is made of slick ice and snow, but this far south it is just rain.
From my seat in the corner chair, I listen to the rain pattering on the rooftop and pouring down the side of the chimney stack. It patters into the gutters, a rhythmic sound of song that is as lulling as it is discordant. I am very glad to be inside and beneath a soft blanket, cocooned and safe from the coming winter.
Years ago, when I had aspirations of being a runner, I tried to start running with a book. It was old and slim. Printed in the 1980s, it had a washed-out pink cover with a pair of woman's legs posed stylishly on the front. Her thighs were shapely and sexless, the kind of legs that are more a thing than a piece of a person. Thin Thighs in 30 Days, the cover proclaimed. I had inherited the book from my mother, who wasn't dead but was nonetheless always gifting me things as if she planned to retire from the world at the end of the year.
I glanced through the book idly. The exercises inside looked simple enough. I would try it out.
For the next thirty days, I followed the book's routines. It was simple--a set of exercises that you were meant to follow each day for thirty days. You started slow, with a little running and some sets of body weight exercises, and increased the routine a little each day. By the end of the month, the plan was to run nearly three miles each day, and complete 5 sets of exercises, taking about a half hour in addition to the run. It was the kind of exercise book that promised to solve all your problems if you just followed the routine. Don't give up! it proclaimed. Walk every day! No matter the weather! it cheered.
What do I do if it rains? was a question that came up often in life. When I was a young girl, still riding horses as if they would carry me off and away into another life, I spent an entire day in the rain. I was helping out at a horse show when it started to rain, and because I was "working", I couldn't just run and hide inside. I kept going, walking the horses to and fro, from stable to paddock and back again. The horses were warm and friendly. They did not mind the rain, but plodded through it. Their manes turned wet and scraggly, and they smelled of musty dirt and something sour. They were warm beside me, and the heat of their bodies turned the rain to mist. It was not entirely unpleasant. Even when the downpour worsened, I kept walking the horses.
I remember that it was a grey summer's day. There was no thunder, nor lightning. Just the warm rain, which splattered down onto my shoulders and the sensitive skin at the part of my hair. It soaked into me, weighing down my shirt and turning my hair dark. It dripped from the tip of my nose. I loved it. I remember laughing.
I do not think that I would like to go out in the rain tonight. It is a cold rain, and the night is very dark. I imagine that if I went out, the first drops would feel thrilling against my skin, and then terrible. I would ache with the cold of the night; the rainstorm would swallow me up and carry me away. Tonight's storm is not a welcoming one, and besides, I have nowhere particular to go. No reason to go out.
Thin Thighs in 30 Days said that if it rained, to go out and run anyway. Rain won't hurt you; you won't melt. The tone of the book was a little chiding, and a little teasing. It knew that you, the reader, got the joke--you aren't a witch at all, to melt away to nothing, just a normal woman with thick thighs. Don't worry. Go out in the rain and let it soak in. If you just keep going, it will wash away your woes. Keep trying, keep striding forward, and all will be well.
Let me tell you: my thighs remain thick. And most times when it rains, I leave my umbrella in the car. Wherever I am going, I walk with my hood down and me face turned up, so that I feel the droplets landing in my hair and on my face, and so I can smell the tang of rainwater that washes the world clean. It makes me feel warm.
From my seat in the corner chair, I listen to the rain pattering on the rooftop and pouring down the side of the chimney stack. It patters into the gutters, a rhythmic sound of song that is as lulling as it is discordant. I am very glad to be inside and beneath a soft blanket, cocooned and safe from the coming winter.
Years ago, when I had aspirations of being a runner, I tried to start running with a book. It was old and slim. Printed in the 1980s, it had a washed-out pink cover with a pair of woman's legs posed stylishly on the front. Her thighs were shapely and sexless, the kind of legs that are more a thing than a piece of a person. Thin Thighs in 30 Days, the cover proclaimed. I had inherited the book from my mother, who wasn't dead but was nonetheless always gifting me things as if she planned to retire from the world at the end of the year.
I glanced through the book idly. The exercises inside looked simple enough. I would try it out.
For the next thirty days, I followed the book's routines. It was simple--a set of exercises that you were meant to follow each day for thirty days. You started slow, with a little running and some sets of body weight exercises, and increased the routine a little each day. By the end of the month, the plan was to run nearly three miles each day, and complete 5 sets of exercises, taking about a half hour in addition to the run. It was the kind of exercise book that promised to solve all your problems if you just followed the routine. Don't give up! it proclaimed. Walk every day! No matter the weather! it cheered.
What do I do if it rains? was a question that came up often in life. When I was a young girl, still riding horses as if they would carry me off and away into another life, I spent an entire day in the rain. I was helping out at a horse show when it started to rain, and because I was "working", I couldn't just run and hide inside. I kept going, walking the horses to and fro, from stable to paddock and back again. The horses were warm and friendly. They did not mind the rain, but plodded through it. Their manes turned wet and scraggly, and they smelled of musty dirt and something sour. They were warm beside me, and the heat of their bodies turned the rain to mist. It was not entirely unpleasant. Even when the downpour worsened, I kept walking the horses.
I remember that it was a grey summer's day. There was no thunder, nor lightning. Just the warm rain, which splattered down onto my shoulders and the sensitive skin at the part of my hair. It soaked into me, weighing down my shirt and turning my hair dark. It dripped from the tip of my nose. I loved it. I remember laughing.
I do not think that I would like to go out in the rain tonight. It is a cold rain, and the night is very dark. I imagine that if I went out, the first drops would feel thrilling against my skin, and then terrible. I would ache with the cold of the night; the rainstorm would swallow me up and carry me away. Tonight's storm is not a welcoming one, and besides, I have nowhere particular to go. No reason to go out.
Thin Thighs in 30 Days said that if it rained, to go out and run anyway. Rain won't hurt you; you won't melt. The tone of the book was a little chiding, and a little teasing. It knew that you, the reader, got the joke--you aren't a witch at all, to melt away to nothing, just a normal woman with thick thighs. Don't worry. Go out in the rain and let it soak in. If you just keep going, it will wash away your woes. Keep trying, keep striding forward, and all will be well.
Let me tell you: my thighs remain thick. And most times when it rains, I leave my umbrella in the car. Wherever I am going, I walk with my hood down and me face turned up, so that I feel the droplets landing in my hair and on my face, and so I can smell the tang of rainwater that washes the world clean. It makes me feel warm.
mood: 
artistic
artistic1 reply | reply
nostalgic