The other day I ran across a tool that calculates how much slower you can expect to run, depending on the heat index. It told me that for four miles in 100*, I should expect to take three minutes longer than if it were 60*.
I don’t know who the hell came up with that algorithm, but I’d wager it was someone whose idea of hot is a little different from mine.
Sunday evening, I ran my 4.25-mile route. I left at 7pm–the sun was dropping, but it was still in the upper 90s. I must have stopped eight times for water. A few of those times I just needed to cool my body temperature a little–which is difficult to do when the breeze is as hot as the surrounding air. It sort of feels like running in front of a hair dryer while standing in an oven.
I promise it took me a lot longer than three additional minutes to complete that sucker. Hell, I spent more than three minutes standing on the sidewalk in front of the sprinklers in some random person’s yard.
Then Monday night after core class, S and I went out for three miles. By my count, we stopped four times, although by the last stop I was out of water. My legs felt okay and I didn’t have trouble breathing, but I just got so damn hot. S, who’s normally quite stoic and doesn’t stop for much, needed these breaks as much as I did. We even stopped with a half-mile to go, just to be able to run the rest of the way.
Yes, I’ve lived here most of my life, and yes I’m used to being outside when it’s hot. But I heat up fast when I run, and even with warm-climate cred, I struggle in the summer.
So naturally, I’m going to the beach.