Some of them were dreamers
And some of them were fools
Who were making plans
and thinking of the future

— clyde jackson browne

—

You would think that when I’m running and it’s 105 degrees with a blaring sun (yes, the sun actually blares here), I would welcome getting wet.

You would be wrong.

I am OK with my shirt and shorts being totally soaked from the honest sweat of running in the heat. I love the occasional dousing of a monsoon storm that turns the park into a lake. And nothing beats the warm feeling of accidentally peeing yourself midway through a race.

But I hate hate hate getting nailed by sprinklers.

I run a bunch of loops in a park near home. It’s only four-tenths of a mile, so I can have a heart attack and still make it back to the car to finish off my icy Diet Coke before dying. The course circles two soccer fields with immaculate grass, a feat that in the desert can mean only one thing:

Water. Lots of water.

And so I find myself dodging sprinklers. Sometimes they’re already on when I begin; sometimes they lie in wait and come on only as I pass. They go for maybe a half hour, just long enough to flood the sidewalk and douse me 10 times or so.

We had a breeze today and I was wearing a singlet, so I became my own little air-conditioner, cooling off while I gradually dried out around the loop, only to be doused again. And again.

I loved it. And I hated it. And I loved it. And I hated it.

Why?

Why, when my heart is in overdrive and my cardiologist is sitting in the shade somewhere saying “I told you so,” do I not embrace getting wet to cool off? There’s an icy water fountain on the course. I have a big sponge. Relief is just a douse away.

But I don’t. Maybe it’s because I’ve always lived where it doesn’t rain much. Or maybe I’m a gremlin. I just can’t do it.

I gave up after 2 miles at 16:00 pace, which I considered a moral victory. I’m cracking up on the indoor track, even though nobody has ever squirted me there. I need to figure out how to survive running outside.

The past four weeks have been abysmal. I am running out of excuses for why the mileage hasn’t picked up after Hotfoot. Maybe tomorrow I can get in decent mileage. The Soccer Boys will demonstrate what the world cup would be like if fueled by Modelo and marijuana, so the sprinklers will take the day off. This could be my day. Making plans and thinking of the future. One soggy lap at a time.

On the bright side, today was Mo’s birthday. We had cake. A lot of cake. Way too much cake.

On the downside, the cake had sprinkles.

Always somethin’ …