Running Obsession

I know that runners are messed up. They obsess about getting out there no matter the weather.
In spite of logically understanding this, I find myself, like a Donald Trump groupie, unable to resist.
The other morning, my friend Sheila texted to ask if I wanted to walk if the weather permitted.

Here I am from a 66 degree run in December --
soaked through and through. 

I told her I was still in bed but I needed to run first.
"Stay in bed!" she texted. "It's raining out now."
Avoiding a walk in the rain makes sense, but once the thermometer creeps into the 50s, my runner's rule says I have to get out there. It's warm enough to run in the rain.
So I did on Thursday and again this morning, as I woke up to the sound of raindrops against the windows.
I dressed in a short-sleeved shirt and running leggings that stop at my knee. I slid on a long-sleeved jacket since the temperature read 52 degrees. I encased my phone  in a plastic bag and wrapped my Fitbit in plastic too so I could get credit for my steps.
This morning, the clock said 7:30, but the sky said 6:30 since we moved the clocks forward last night.

My friend Naj and I ran in the snow this winter too.
We're die hard runners. 

I ran through the wet, dark streets. I didn't feel the rain but I could see it falling when I looked at the lights. I quickly got too warm and pulled my jacket off. As I passed mile three, my hands felt icy and wet. I tried to shake off the rain that soaked my arms, my pony tail. I felt the squoosh of water in my soaked socks and shoes.
And finally, I thought, this is crazy. I ran home at just under four miles, feeling guilty about my run cut short -- but satisfied that my Fitbit had a jump on my 10,000 steps for the day.
We runners are nuts, but I don't think I'd give it up.