Wet Armpits

I went running today.  It was raining.  It didn't start out that way.  When I left the house the sky was gray, but dry.  I can beat the rain I thought.  After all, I would be running.  That means fast.
So off I went.  I got about one block and - it started pouring.  Immediately I ran under the nearest tree.  The foliage cut the rainfall into about half, but I was still getting pretty wet.  After a few minutes I was thoroughly doused, and so decided - since I had come this far - I might as well keep going.  Like Forrest Gump.  But wetter.
So out I went.  The water was streaming down my face, soaking my clothes, splashing into my shoes.  I looked like an Olympic champion, I'm sure.  You know, the ones in those annoying Axe commercials.  "Use this deodorant and your armpits will still be dry even in the worst downpours."  I could imagine my parents sitting in the sunroom where I'd left them, reading their books.  "Do you think Hannah Sue's alright, dear?" my mother would ask worriedly.  "It's raining so hard, perhaps we should do something!"
"It will be OK, dear," my father would reply reassuringly.  "She needs to be strong.  She can make it, even in this rain.  She's our Olympic champion!"
I could hear it all: the cheers of the crowd, the fawning of awestruck male suitors, the adoration of my loving family!
Oh, finally!  The ice cream shop on the corner!  I took shelter under the porch and called my mom, told her to bring a towel.  No one watches the Olympics anyway.  At least I don't, which means that no one does.