September may be the worst month for running in North Carolina. It’s as hot and humid as July or August, but it marks the third month in a row where every run is a sweat-drenched slog. And while I expect that in July, every store I enter makes me think I should be raking leaves and pulling out my long sleeves. Pumpkin beer is out, Starbucks is pushing PSL’s, and the neighborhood pools are closing down. I’m dreaming of crisp fall mornings, but summer just laughs in my face and saps my motivation. At times like these, I need something more than a long term goal to get me out the door. 

Because of the humidity, we get a lot of afternoon storms that leave water everywhere (it can’t evaporate until the morning sun can come out to burn off the haze). Rain beads on the edge of leaves and branches, making them heavy and hang low over the trails and sidewalks. It’s harder to avoid them than normal, and I’ve decided not to bother. I raise my hand to brush against the leaves in front of me. The moisture feels cool and fresh, and I can see how the different trees react. Maples are surprised and swing back wildly. Oaks seem nonchalant. Pines hold their ground pretty well. I’ve only found one plant that didn’t appreciate the attention (a surprisingly prickly bush that I know better to avoid now). It’s small and silly, but this game hasn’t failed yet to gift me with appreciation for a run rather than a sense of obligation to complete it. 

If it hasn’t rained then I keep my eyes open for anything other small moments to inspire joy and keep me moving: herons slow-walking by the shore in search of breakfast, school bus tail-lights tracing red lines up a hill, and rabbits hiding in the clover have all played their own parts, but they don’t hit as many senses as swishing wet tree branches can. Now I look forward to rain and what it leaves behind, and as small as it seems that anticipation has made these tough days of running a little better.