When I was in college, a good way to clear my head and get reenergized for a long night of studying was to go for a nice long afternoon run. A favorite route was the trail that snaked its way around the edges of the par-3 golf course on campus.

There was one particular run, that I almost didn’t take, but am so glad that I did.

Living off campus in an apartment, I threw on my running clothes, hopped into my white 65 Mustang, and headed for the golf course. On the way there it started to rain, and by the time I parked the car, it was raining even harder.

Or so it sounded on the metal roof of my car.

The rain hitting that metal roof sounded like a torrential downpour. While not a fair-weather runner by any means, which one can’t be if one lives in the Pacific Northwest, the longer I sat there, the more reasons I came up with not to get out of the car. It would be too cold, too wet, too muddy on the course, and too much bother to deal with my wet running clothes back in our apartment with no washer and dryer. Not only that, it was raining even harder.

Or so it sounded on the metal roof of my car.

Just about to put the key in the ignition and head back home, I suddenly thought of all the reasons to get out of the car. After every run, I always felt better, and logging those three-miles left me with energy, clarity, and a more positive outlook. While I didn’t give in and start the car, I didn’t get out of it either, and, it was raining even harder.

Or so it sounded on the metal roof of my car.

I sat there for a few more minutes, pondering my dilemma. To run, or not to run? Before I could change my mind, I grabbed the door handle, stepped out of the car, and immediately found that the rain that sounded like a downpour was actually just a gentle spring rain. Cool and invigorating, the conditions were perfect for a run.

45 years later, I still remember the feel of the rain on my face, the good endorphins that come when we move our bodies, and, how glad I was that I didn’t let the sound of the rain, on the metal roof of my car, keep me from hitting the trail.

Sometimes it’s good not to believe our ears.