A run, the rain, toast, & Matt Nathanson.

{Photo from roujo via Flickr}

This morning, in the rain, I had a wonderful run on the east side of Manhattan. It was of course one of those mornings that I left my apartment not realizing that there was precipitation until I stepped out of my building and saw the first drop fall on my iPod screen. There is a split second when I go out to run in the rain and have my iPod on me, where I think about turning around and bringing it to safety as I am pretty sure I destroyed one a couple of years ago from letting it run with me in a torrential downpour; these devices are unfortunately not immortal. Anyhow, this morning I kept him (yes, my pod is a 'him') tightly in my gloved hand and continued on my way.

For those that have never done it, I recommend running in the rain. There is something absolutely powerful and invigorating about pounding your feet on the wet pavement and wiping sweat/rain out of your eyes, all the while feeling the strength in your legs as you dodge the puddles.

Due to the rain, I also feel that the music I am listening to has to coordinate with the overcast weather. As I have mentioned before in an earlier post, workout music is key and I love being the music director/DJ on my runs. Normally, I need a workout mix that contains one or more of the following artists: Beyoncé, Justin Timberlake, Kanye West or Bloc Party. This morning though? I needed something a little more hopeful and romantic, with just a hint of sorrow – enter Matt Nathanson.

So here I am, running in this great precipitation, listening to Matt, and at about my halfway point along one of the major highways that run through New York City, I came to a smell. No, I know you are all thinking "smell" + "NYC" = garbage/urine. Not this time. For some reason, this morning the "smell" was (ready for it?) ––– toast! Yes, toast! It was amazing and such a great morning scent that brings me back to waking up in my Grandparents house in Maine over the summer, walking down the hall and seeing the lake through the large window in the dining room and my Grandmother reading the paper and drinking coffee out of a yellow ceramic mug. And of course, inhaling that sweet smell of toasted bread combined with that one crumb burning at the bottom of the toaster oven. Who knew nostaligia like this could strike at 8:15am along the FDR?

Add all of these pieces together: running, rain, toast, mellow tunes. In my opinion I had pure morning bliss.