Sunday night I went running for the first time in, well, a long time. I have no idea how long it has been. Months. I ran three miles and felt really good. The weather has cooled off, it was late evening, and I had a Fresh Air podcast on my iPod. Wanting to keep up my new habit, I decided to do it again yesterday, as it was still relatively cool this week. The girls were trying to earn some money to pay me back for two Barbie dolls we had “on layaway” (in my closet) and so I took the kids over to grandma’s to pull weeds after I got off work and headed out for a run.
So you know when you are driving down the road and see a runner at 1:30 in the afternoon, sun beating down on them, and you wonder what the heck they are thinking, running in the heat of the day? That is exactly what I was wondering about myself. I made it a whopping 1.5 miles before I had to stop. As in, I couldn’t run another step without worrying that I might keel over. As in, “relatively cool” is just that – relative. Yeah – it isn’t 98 degrees like last week, but 88 degrees is still hot.
I walked the rest of the 2.5 miles home. And I still felt sick and drained. I had to go the the girls’ swim meet last night and my legs hurt – not muscle soreness like after a bunch of lunges, but stabs of pain all over. I slept fitfully last night – my legs tingled and ached everywhere. This morning? Still achy.
Part of this pain is a result, I think, of getting a wee bit older. Just a wee.
Part of this pain is a result of being stupid.