Bright Umbrellas in the Rain

A rainy wave from Mile Marker 13,898...

I get home from work exhausted, just as the rain begins.

I drop my lunchbag in the kitchen, my backpack on the dining room chair.  

I limp into the bedroom.  Contemplate lowering the shades.  The sky is dark already.  Can the neighbors see in?  But I'm too tired even to make that decision.

Instead, I leave the overhead lights off.  
Strip off my work clothes.  
Slide on an Old Navy tee-shirt.  

Then I sit on the edge of my bed and -- Ahhhh! -- finally pop the vacuum seal on my prosthesis and peel off the sweat-soaked liner.  Sweet relief.

I am glad it is raining.
I needed an early sunset.

These long days of summer wear me down.

Summer feels noisy, with its trash-strewn sidewalks, weird smells, and steamy steps through endless construction zones.  

It makes my body noisy too: sweaty skin, slipping prosthetic liner, slashes of nerve pain.

Each day, I start out fresh -- and end up exhausted.

But sleeping is a reset.  
And I feel better the next morning.

Today, when I turn on my laptop, this pic fills the screen.

It's me.  In the rain.  In Paris!

I remember that week in 2023, when a lunchtime downpour caught me and others at an outdoor café covered only by tiki umbrellas.  

I laughed with the Australians at the next table as water poured off our makeshift rooftops.  If it weren't for the cobblestones and croque-madames, we could have been on a waterfall hike together, instead of a Parisian sidewalk.

I stare at the photo now, at my bright umbrella, electric in the rain.

It was a gift from my mom just before the trip, and I loved it immediately.  

It reminded me of Paris -- and hope -- the maillot jaune of my own Tour de France.

Every day that week, it rained on and off, torrential and soaking, with small breaks of sunshine.  I ran out of dry shoes and sloshed around in my wet ones.

But my umbrella wasn't the only bright spot.  For a city of muted colors, Paris was flooded with bright umbrellas.

Rain makes Paris shimmer.

I'm smiling in that photo, but I remember, too, that it wasn't the best "leg day."  

I had just descended a narrow, twisty flight of stairs to refit my prosthesis in a humid restaurant bathroom.  It was already slipping off again, and I still had a long walk back to the Métro.  

But I'd also just finished the Paris Writing Workshop!  

I had learned to navigate the city and -- through that struggle -- felt like I was part of it.

I'm smiling because, at that moment, I wished for nothing better than a Paris rainstorm.

Here, at Mile 13,898, the rain outside my window reminds me of that feeling.

I stand in my dim bedroom, taking one breath.  

And then another.

My leg is dry again, refitted (for the moment) well enough to stand and make dinner. 

I've written about the rain before -- at Mile 255, and 610, and 733, and probably others.  Each time, it has meant something different to my journey.

But tonight, I accept it for exactly what it is.

A chance to wear pajamas.

Read my friend Wendy's writing.  
Call my mom.  
Wash the dishes.  
Get ready for bed.

A chance to wipe the day clean.

Walk on,
Rebecca