Last night, the weather forecast called for the humidity to drop in the morning, just in time for my run. Except when I got up, a thunderstorm loomed nearby and the humidity most definitely still hovered around the eleventy-nine percent mark. No rainout, no storm cancellation, no excuses.
So I headed out to meet my friend. We haven’t run together in a couple of weeks, since our training program ended, but we agreed to continue meeting on Saturdays for 4-6 miles of accountability. Today we planned five.
We were slow to get out the door, slow to start our watches, slow to move from a walk to a run. The first mile was just getting ankles and knees and hips to remember what the hell they were supposed to be doing. We stopped for water, then continued on. The cloudcover helped, but it still felt like we were running through a swamp.
But without the serenading frog.
The next water stop was just past the three-mile point. By this time, we were drenched in sweat–even my elbows were sweaty. I drank some water and dumped some on my head.
By this point the sun had come out and we resorted to bargaining with ourselves–run to the fire hydrant, run to the traffic light, run to the water cooler. Pretty much the last two miles were one giant mind game.
We ended up with 5.1 miles of sweaty sluggishness. Time to rehydrate!
It was the frog’s idea.