She has a busy schedule, but always tries to find time for exercise.  That was ingrained in her years ago when she trained as a ballerina. But now, she goes hiking in the mountains when she has time, or she goes swimming or lifts some weights in her home gym, because when she previously went to the public gym, all the male grunters would stop what they were doing to stare, and even “instruct” her on the technique she already mastered better than them, when she was working out.

Without question, her favorite exercise is running.  Especially in the warm, gentle summer rain. She will run whenever it fits into her schedule. She simply puts on her shoes, stretches her lean ballerina legs that seem naturally flexible, puts on her silky running shorts that give her athletic thighs room to pump freely, a simple T-shirt designed to be comfortable and unrevealing as possible to the innocent and not so innocent male bystanders, and usually a baseball cap that says Colorado Rockies or Berentzen beer, and of course, her long hair in a pony tail, so that it will swish back and forth in back, out of her forward progress down the road or trail.

She dresses to be practical and to accomplish her goal of an exhilarating work out, and she does not dress to look good as other goddesses might, with pink shorts or a revealing blouse, or mon Dieu – a dash of perfume just in case of a chance meeting with prince charming?  No, she dresses for the sole purpose of running, and enjoying her work out while experiencing the wonders of nature.  In fact, she doesn’t mind getting dirty, or even muddy. She expects this will happen, and it makes her feel stronger and confident.

She smiles when it is raining outside, without thunderstorms, blessed with a light summer tear-drop rain, because she wants to get wet immediately.  In fact, in the middle of a run, she welcomes a sudden rain shower, and relishes getting soaked.  Most other people avoid the rain, but she goes after it with controlled abandon and increased speed.

The men run for the indoors during the rain, or they drive by her in their cars with windshield wipers going back and forth on the windshield, speeding up the wiper cadence so they can get a better glimpse of this soaking wet running vision that most certainly, could not be real.  She knows she produces feminine bounces, like gentle teasing jiggles, both front and back, but that is something she is blessed with, or perhaps sometimes cursed with depending on who is staring and what they yell at her, but she ignores them, and immerses herself in her run completely.

Soon she is completely soaked, and that is when her perfection becomes most obvious —not just because her clothes are soaked to her smooth dripping skin, creating an amazing anatomy lesson for those who must see it, but she is oblivious and she is at one with the rain and the unstoppable rhythm of her running cadence. Their eyes look at the obvious form she provides, but her effortless strides will hypnotize you because although you may see her garlic-cloved calves contract with each leg push off, you cannot stare at them too long until your eyes then move up to the jiggling shorts, then, the soaked T-shirt with droplets of mud all over it, and then, you will become dangerously hypnotized by the swooshing back and forth movement of her long pony tail, with water dripping off her baseball cap bill.

However, most amazingly, you cannot help but stare at her effortless, long strides, and her shoes barely brush the ground with a gentle stroke, as she seems to float in the air for a millisecond between each brush, right, then left, and most of her time is in the air.

Some men will try to “save” her, and drive next to her, roll down the window and say something heroic like, “I will get you out of the rain”, or, “do you need a ride home?” They have no idea that she has no intention of being saved from this exhilarating pleasure that her heart cherishes.  She doesn’t even look at them and barely hears them because her cadence quickens as the rain comes down harder, the back of her shirt even muddier,  and she feels so fresh and alive and confident that her soul is flying, and only intermittently touching the wet and stationary earth briefly, then back into the succulent wet air again, and she never wants to stop until she finally arrives home, looks up to the sky, praises God for the health she has been blessed with, and then, takes off her wet clothes and jumps into a nice warm shower, and the mud trickles off her long legs into the drain.

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