I woke up this morning to the sound of rain drops on my
roof. My ten year old daughter has decided to run for 20 minutes with me on
Monday, Wednesday and Friday mornings, but so far the weather has been only
good, all the time. I was bursting with curiosity to see how she would handle
this challenge. Did I say raining? It was pouring.
***
7:30 AM
“It’s raining.” she whispers. I see that although
she is still in bed, she is dressed and ready to go.
“Do you want to run in the rain this morning?” I
ask.
“I don’t want to run in the rain, but I don’t want to
miss a running day,” she says, crawling out of bed. Her eyes are looking
at me with big question marks. She is clearly watching me to see how I think
she should deal with this challenge.
“Well,” I say, “I guess you need to decide if
you want to not run in the rain more, or not miss a running day
more.”
She follows me downstairs. Tears well up in her eyes.
“I don’t have a jacket.” she says.
“I have one here,” I say. She puts it on.
“My shoes will get wet,” she says.
“Yes they will,” I say.
“I can’t do my jacket up!” she says, fighting back
more tears.
“Let me do it for you,” I say.
We step outside. The rain is cold and driving down hard.
“I can’t do it,” she says. “It’s too
cold”.
She is nervous. Is it ok to run in the rain? Is it normal to
run in the rain? Will it hurt to run in the rain? Will she hate every minute of
it? Will she be uncomfortable?
We start running. At first she is tentative. Her hands are
cold, the rain is stinging her cheeks along with her leftover tears. I point
out that the streets we usually share with a dozen others are empty today
except for her. I tell her how the best part of running in the rain is the warm
shower you get when you get home. I point out the “mysterious” trees
in the fog – so different from the beautiful blue skies we chatted about last
week.
After about 5 minutes she starts to perk up – it’s those
exercise endorphins and the realization that this task was not bigger than her
strength after all. We laugh about the rain on our faces and our sloshy shoes.
We run for about 10 minutes and then take a short cut home. She sprints the
last 50 metres and splashes me with every step.
15 minutes was all it took for my ten year old to realize
that the worst thing about fear is that it lies to you. You can do it. The
challenge that seems overwhelming is not bigger than your strength. Rainy days
will come and go, but you can do it if you just take that first step.
Have a great day!
Love Rae
