I set out for my morning run today, hoping to do 14 miles at a 9:20 pace. (Those FIRST bastards seem to think I should be doing 15 today, but guess what? Not gonna happen. I figured I’d average that 15 with the 13 from last week that I’ve already missed due to my marathon-induced melancholy. And ask me if I give a shit that by screwing with the specifics of my schedule, it is no longer “scientifically based”. I don’t – give a shit, that is.)
Let’s just say I did NOT meet my mileage goal for the day. Here in the itty bitty village of Frostburgg (Few Residents. Obscene Snowfall. Tenuous Balance of Unwashed Rednecks and Guardians of Goodness), we are experiencing a heatwave. The last of the snow just melted, so we Frostburggians are now in the thick of our one other season – summer. (What’s that you say? What about spring and fall? Can’t say as I’m familiar with them.) Summer here lasts from June 1 – Aug. 31 and is unbearably hot and humid, and then it’s back to the blizzard-like conditions that we know and love. And I generally welcome the return of winter, as I would waaaaay rather be dodging snowplows and de-icing my eyelashes, even in late May, than to run in this heat.
The pros of running in incredible heat are few: I can use my salt encrusted arms as a conveniently located salt lick. I can take off my shirt and run in my jog bra without COMPLETELY offending the Guardians of Goodness. (‘Cause I lean more towards the “Unwashed Redneck” type, myself.)
The cons are myriad: I sweat like nobody’s business, and my glasses slide down my face with annoying regularity. I sweat like nobody’s business, and as said sweat funnels between my ass cheeks, it stains my shorts in a pattern seen only in the incontinent. I sweat like nobody’s business, and my need to rehydrate often causes me to make some very unwise choices. (Let’s just say that despite countless near misses/messes, I never seem to realize that Gatorade is comprised entirely of crushed up laxatives. Drinking this delicious but deadly fluid WILL make my shorts muddy.)
So I didn’t get 15 done, but I did manage to pound out 11at a pace somewhere between 8:55 – 9:15. Now if you don’t mind, I’ll now be retiring to my couch to lay prone and sedentary until winter returns.
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October 6, 2009 at 6:27 pm
Keith
Gee, the climate of Frostburgg is much like most of Canada, only nicer. 3 months of summer, that would be amazing. And Gatorade, it’s semen of the devil, I’m sure of it. Never touch it.
There is this neat bit of technology you can use to hold your glasses up; it’s a little strap going around behind your head. Works great, provided you don’t mind sweat bridging from your eyebrows to your glasses, then making sweat trails down what you’re trying to look through.