I think maybe I've reached my max quota for running in obnoxious heat and humidity for one season.
This week alone, I've run...brace yourself...TWICE...on a treadmill. Inside. With A/C. The shock of the sheer wimpiness of my behavior is almost too much to handle.
I sheepishly pull into my beautiful little YMCA with my "Got Trails?" sticker and my 26.2 magnet (brag much?), only to climb aboard the pansy treadmill next to the rest of the wussy runners who choose fluorescent lighting and free Wi-Fi over the thrill of running in the great outdoors. Pitiful.
Trouble is, I don't really feel that bad about it. I mean, how many unbearably humid, sticky days can even a bad-ass shirtless runner be expected to tolerate?
If you're the outdoorsy type (of course you are, you're reading this), you may remember a blissful little stretch of cool weather here in VA a couple of weeks ago. I like to refer to it as my period of summer-time outdoor running unraveling. It was freakishly cool and crisp (and ahh-mazing) for over a week. That's about how long it took for my body to decide, "Oh great! Fall is here!"
Dream on, shorty.
As you know, we've paid dearly for that tease of fall-like weather that Mother Nature so ruthlessly dangled in front of our faces. Its the first week of Fall, the pool is closed (BOO!) and it feels like a sauna wrapped in an itchy wool sweater out there.
This trail runner has no shame. Ain't no way I'm pushing 60lbs of jogging stroller, picking up the 6 lbs of dog poo that will inevitably be dropped by my K9 running buddy along the way, dodging school buses and UPS trucks, all while playing "I Spy" with my passenger for 6 dang miles today.
Ain't. No. Way.
See ya'll at the gym.