Dear running shoes,
Thanks for dragging my miserable butt through six miles this morning. If I had known what I was in for, I might have stayed in bed. Summer is here (as if you hadn’t noticed by my sweat-drenched socks) and although you weren’t around last year, you may have heard how much I loathe running in the summer humidity. There is no place for my sweat to go! Thanks to a pal’s suggestion, I am now tracking the daily relative humidity and obsessing over finding my threshold. Best I can tell, I feel like crap running in anything between 94%-100% humidity. And wouldn’t you know, it peaks between 5am-7am, exactly when I’m on the trail. I’m pretty much screwed for the next few months. So, my trusty DS Trainers, forgive me when I say that I’m hitting the pool and the gym…and I’ll see you in October or when the next cold front blows through. Whichever comes first.
Dear running chicas,
No, I’m not pregnant. I know I’ve used the misery of summer as an excuse to cut back on running while secretly prego, but that was a lifetime ago! That was back when two kids were a piece of cake and a third baby was going to just “ease into our family” without a hitch. I’m so much wiser now! On many fronts. And definitely not prego. Really.
Ok, let’s get a few things straight. This new “summer survival” plan does not grant you permission to chunk up and bust through your Tempo shorts. We know that Austin’s hibernation season runs June-Sept. Do I need to point out how inconveniently this is timed with swimsuit season? Do me a favor and try to avoid adopting a winter layer of fat in the middle of the summer. You can start by curbing my nightly cravings for chocolate and tortilla chips.
Dear mental health,
Time to dig deep. Not much else to say. Talking only does so much, you know. Need I remind you that nothing (nothing!) gives us the endorphin fix like running, so it’s up to you to either motivate my pathetic butt…or help me find another acceptable outlet for all the spinning thoughts. Because lord knows the house is not big enough for a raging stress-ball mama. And if you won’t listen to me, I’m so not afraid to call Dr. Phil!
About this time every year I question why I love thee so. Today, as the forecast calls for humid with a chance of sweltering, you still give me a few reasons to stay here during the summer. Like this one, or this one, or this one. Ooh, or this one. And when I really can’t take it anymore, this and this at the same time.