Sunday: one-mile walk-commute to the new office in the morning, then in the afternoon I ran a little more than two miles (2.15 Dama) back with a detour through the neighborhood. I was in regular shorts and t-shirt, fairgoers were parking their cars on our residential streets, with inquiring looks at me, sweating heavily, shirt soaked (97 F/ 104F with humidity). Had I stolen something?
Had a nice dunk in the kids' pool afterwards.
Monday morning: in keeping with Scratch & Scedastic's dream theme and nightmares, I woke up at 1am from a stress dream. So I watched old TV shows like Jack Benny and The Saint, drank an IPA and ate some popcorn off the floor that the kids had spilled, tried to go back to sleep for an hour while looking at my beautiful family slumbering restfully on our king-sized bed, then finally, at 5am, decided it's no use, the day has begun for me, mis' well get out and run.
I felt like crap, and only managed two hill repeats before I was ready to pack it in, with my heart pounding and my lungs burning in the sticky, oppressive air (82F, 70% humidity). But then on my way back home I felt alright once the terrain had flattened out, and so kept going, past my street, then cut through the neighborhood, wondering how far I should run, enjoying the pure spontaneity of having no route in mind.
A bit later I felt even better and contemplated a proper mezzo or even long run. But then just a mile after that, still before dawn, my vision started to blur in the early morning heat and humidity. I was sweaty, dehydrated, tired, fasted, and so headed home. Still, I was glad I got the run in--3.13 miles total.
Monday afternoon. Really didn't feel like lifting, and our garage wasn't very cool. But after last week's half-hearted efforts, I knew if I didn't hop back on the st train this week, I might fall seriously behind. It seems like atrophy sets in faster as one ages. I managed to get through 80% of my exercises. No real pump, but I'm glad I got the workout in. Should set me up well for the Wednesday's session.
Tuesday morning: 6.2 mi / 10K (¿estas feliz ahora Dama?). I headed out around 4:20am, hot, hot, sticky, sticky, sticky (77F, 86% humidity), under a pretty half-moon snuggling up to Orion.
After two blocks I took off my shirt, after just a mile I felt like quitting. After three miles I stopped to stretch. My piri formis in particular was feeling tight. A car's headlights shone on my prone figure, the driver slowed down then musta figured out I was laying on the suburban asphalt sidewalk stretching, not having a heatstroke.
After the stretch I felt better, and heading back towards my neighborhood I picked up a pleasant head-breeze, but the run still required the mental effort of a tempo run until the last two miles or so, when I had finally acclimated to the heat and humidity and got into the 'zone' of a proper aerobic run.
Hey, that's a week now of running two or more miles every day. Legs fine, feet fine.
Had a really rubbish run today. Felt depressed anyway but told myself that the run would cheer me up, and decided to do a separate kilometre and mile just to get a base figure for those distances into my Garmin webpage. I thought that would be nice and easy - I wasn't going to push for a good time or anything, but after I did the km my legs felt like lead and I half walked the mile, then realised my slowness was risking me missing last orders at the cafe so had to speed up a bit!
