I am picky about chicken. I pretty much am a white meat, chicken breast only kind of a person and I have been this way my entire life. We ate a lot of broiled chicken dinners in my family. My dad would cut up a whole chicken and broil it in this crazy old gas stove, the bottom drawer of the oven pulled out to reveal the broiler tray and the pulsing blue flames. It was pretty intimidating, especially when there was a fat flare-up and a flame would shoot out when he flipped the chicken. The division of the cooked pieces went well: breast for me, legs and thighs for my dad and brother, my mom would eat a leg and the wings and the other breast. I just could not take the gristle in those legs and wings or the skin on any of it. It gives me the shivers to think about it.

I can also be a bit precious about my clothes being clean and tidy and remaining spot free. I have been known to go into a serious pout if something spills on me and I have to walk around with the stain glaring like some scarlet letter. But as a bonus to this commitment to order, I have never lost a pair of sunglasses. I like things to be speckless, and well placed, but I can have some deliciously messy moments too.

Tonight I had to run in the rain. Running in the rain is messy and cold and muddy and wet and annoying. And it was dark. I cursed the entire first mile and noticed that my shins and calves were tight and heavy, no doubt they hated the rain too. I trudged along, behind the dogs, and realized that they were having a Gene Kelly moment, ecstatic to be outside weather be damned. Yet another life lesson from Golden Retrievers.

My shins however, did not loosen up. Even though I am getting nervous about my fitness level for race day and that I will be the last to cross the finish line, I listened to the messages from my gams and stopped to stretch. When we picked back up, I went slowly, like a jog pace, and paid attention to the night… the rain, Mt. Tam before me, and the ambient light that only appears on a cloudy night. Yes, I missed the stars, but a night run under cloudy skies means there is that gorgeous reflective light that gives just enough glow to the path to feel safe and actually see my surroundings. And it was then, when I could see the puddles, that I stopped avoiding them. I stopped picking at my chicken and went full on messy: sweaty, rain soaked, mud splattered, squishy feet abandon.

The magic iPod complied selecting The Style Council and “My Ever Changing Moods” for the end of the run:

“Daylight turns to moonlight – and I’m at my best
Praising the way it all works – gazing upon the rest
The cool before the warm
The calm after the storm
I wish to stay forever – letting this be my food
But I’m caught up in a whirlwind and my ever changing moods…”

It’s good to get a little dirty.

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