Drowned rat

I don't know why, but rain comes into my head the minute I think of my childhood.
--Dhanush

I-phones come equipped with a handy little app that lets you check the weather.  Despite being frequently disappointed by its forecasts, I check it often.  This morning, I saw that it would remain cloudy in Seattle until about 11 a.m. -- but après cela, le deluge!

So, ever-trusting soul that I am, I set out at 8:45 a.m. for my daily four-mile walk from my house, planning to circle the UW campus before the rains set in.  After about twenty minutes, it began sprinkling, then raining, and then -- by Seattle standards, at least -- a downpour.  Finally, just before crossing the bridge across the Montlake cut, I gave up and turned around.  My shoes were wet, my jeans were sodden, my supposedly waterproof windbreaker was saturated.  I was, I whimpered to myself, soaked to the skin.

About five minutes after I had turned around, the rain eased off a bit (very temporarily).  And I began to wonder at my cowardice.

I recalled a time as an undergraduate, walking from my dorm to the student union building, where I was scheduled to league bowl for my living group (I was quite the college athlete).  It began raining -- a California rain, not all that hard, but blown sideways by the wind.  I found myself hunched over, cowering, muttering imprecations as I hurried myself along.

And my 20-year-old mind drifted back to the olden days of my youth.  Back when we kids played outside for hours, rain or shine.  Back when I enjoyed the feel of rain beating against my young face. I'd end up visiting a friend's house, and his mother would exclaim, "You boys look like drowned rats!  Don't you know enough to come in out of the rain?"  We'd look at each other blankly.  So we were wet?  So what?

Gosh, I thought.  When did I start acting like an old man, all hunched over and miserable, just because it's raining?  Is this what being grown-up entails?

And now, as an "old man," I ask the same question.  I was already wet when I turned around this morning.  I wasn't going to get any wetter. Why didn't I just finish my walk, come back to the house on schedule, change clothes, and have a nice cup of coffee?  Am I the Wicked Witch of the West?  Afraid that I'll dissolve in water?

I had no answer.  I have none now.  All I know is that I cut my walk short, came home, changed clothes, and poured myself the cup of coffee I didn't really deserve.  Neither more nor less drenched than if I'd continued to walk ten miles.

I pride myself on finishing difficult hikes or climbs, despite adversity.  And yet a little urban rain did me in.  I guess I was afraid of becoming a "drowned rat."