Walk in downpour soaks editor with reflection

Monday provided me with a chance to do something I hadn’t done in a while: enjoy a walk in the rain.

Right after class, I decided to pack it in for the day and head home. I live a few blocks off campus, and some days it seems like a longer hike than it actually is. I’ll probably be cursing for the next seven months when I’m trudging through snowdrifts to and from Palumbo.

But Monday was a reasonably nice day. Though the dark clouds threatened for most of the morning, it was mostly dry and warmer than a mid-November day should be.

Then cats and dogs started being chucked from the skies.

I reached the Eighth Street doors of Palumbo and sighed. My walk home was looking much longer than usual now. With a shrug I strolled out the door and braced for the rain.

It wasn’t like I wasn’t prepared for inclement weather, either.

Though I don’t channel Mary Poppins and tote around an umbrella, my outerwear of choice is my thick, black, Royal Falcon zip hoodie.

But after sizing up that downpour, I decided to forgo donning my hood.

Sprinting home was not an option. The old wives’ tale proclaims running in the rain is a surefire way to get wetter than if you just take your time and walk. The guys on Mythbusters proved it, too.

By the time I reached Sixth Street, my hair was already glued to my head and I was starting to feel the rain soak through my clothes.

The rest of the walk was pretty surreal. Students hurried past clutching their umbrellas while others raced from apartments to their cars, complaining about their wet clothes. But I kept my normal pace. My shoes started to squish.

My drenching traipse allowed me to savor one of the final nice days of the year. I thought about how almost anyone loves to play in the snow, but only little kids like to play in the rain.

I cursed my absentmindedness for leaving my iPod at home; I would have given anything to be blaring “The Rain Song” by Led Zeppelin during the downpour.

Luckily the rain stopped just as I reached the house and mounted the porch steps. My hand froze on its way to the lock, and I turned around to gaze at the slowing rain. I was glad I didn’t miss it.

As I entered the house and removed my soggy sneakers, two of my roommates gaped at me as I dripped all over the living room carpet. One of them said I should have called for a ride.

I smiled and said I didn’t mind walking home in the rain.

“But could you imagine if I ran all the way home? I’d be soaked.”

DAN KUBACKI

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