We went out for a run on Saturday night. It was supposed to be a quick 4 miles, not much longer than half an hour. And because I said “supposed,” I assume you can see where this is going. The first mistake was a timing one. We left at 9:30. It was still a bit light out when we left — light enough that we could see the most beautiful white puffy cloud and the lightning that was bouncing around inside of it — but not for long. Which could have been fine if the streets were familiar. But they weren’t. We’re visiting family in a different state and we don’t really know our way around too well. And then it was hot. Muggy. Really, really muggy. Almost stiflingly so. We carefully picked our way along the sidewalks, some of which were rocky, broken, or grassy (it was hard to tell in the dark) and along the roads, not all of which had sidewalks. We’d hop off of the shoulder and into the grass if a car was coming and hoped we didn’t jump on a rock. And the time passed without us finding the street we were supposed to turn onto to go home. We’d been out 40 minutes of a 32 minute run and I was getting cranky. Okay, I’d been cranky all day. Very little sleep and a chest cold had left me feeling like this was a bad idea all around. I shouldn’t have come. I needed my rest. We finally stopped to get directions. We were about half a mile off course. Not too bad. We turned around an made our way home.
When we got in, our clothes were soaked. The cool air felt so nice. We gulped some water, showered, had some ice cream. And the run became a laugh. An adventure. Something I would have regretted if I hadn’t done it, a story I would have missed being able to tell.
You miss 100% of the shots you don’t take, you regret 100% of the runs you skip out on.