A Steaming Pile of Poo?

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"Well, that was a steaming pile of poo..." This was my first thought as I stopped my Garmin and began walking to cool down. I'd just finished my morning run, my first in nearly a month, and I wasn't delighted. 8:46/mile pace over 7.5 miles. Pedestrian. Slovenly. Mistake-driven. We're on the cusp of summer here in Central Texas when warm soup and cool showers become facts of life for the near-interminable duration. Hot days followed by warm nights and even warmer mornings coupled with a nifty upswing in humidity make running - at least for me - complete bullshit. Look, I don't like running much even when conditions are perfect (45F with moderate winds) but at least it's tolerable. Summer in Austin, though... It's a wonder I ever leave the house from May to October. It's an even bigger wonder that I attempt to run through it. 

Which I did begrudgingly this morning. I realized a couple days ago that I have a race in two months, a race I'm flying more than halfway across the country to run, a race I'd really like to be somewhat prepared for. So, off I went this morning into 74/90 (74F and 90% humidity). I told myself it could be worse. Hell, I trained for a fall half marathon last summer. I survived longer distances, hotter temps, and higher humidity. Surely, I could do run a measly 7.5 this morning. Surely. 

And you know it's all well and good at the start. Meh, just slog along, pay attention to heart rate (which my Garmin sucks at even on its best day), don't worry about pace, and finish. I think that's what I have to tell myself to get out the door. And it works, too, most days...right up until I get that first mile split. Then it's on. Either I'm ecstatic or horribly disappointed. Today it was the latter. I mean it's not like I expected much, but I was hopeful. I'm always hopeful. Miracles do happen. Even when slogging through warm soup. "Alright, just don't let it get any worse. Hold it right here and it'll be ok enough." I knew there wasn't much hope I'd suddenly be able to breathe and knock out a couple sub-8:00 miles....but I also knew that if I slipped into the 9 minute range I might rip off my shoes, toss them in the lake, and quit running all together. 

I was right. It never got any prettier. I focused on the messed up heart rate on my Garmin (It finally kicked in around in the middle of Mile 5), holding form, and a few Deena Kastor-isms I recalled from last summer. My splits stayed consistently crappy until they got slightly crappier on Miles 6 and 7. I managed to stay a hair below 9 minute pace thus avoiding a long barefoot walk back to my car, but it was close. 

I promise I try to stay positive in all aspects of my life at almost all times. Summer, though... "F*** this sh**" does constant battle with "Like it or like it." It's day-to-day, minute-by-minute, honestly. This morning, f-this nearly won out. Summer destroys any enjoyment of running I might muster and makes me turtle slow. Reminding myself over and over again that PRs are born in difficult conditions only goes so far. Try breathing warm soup for the better part of an hour and tell me I'm wrong. Anyway...  By January standards today's run was a steaming pile of poo. But - and here's the good news - it's not January. It's May and...yeah...it's only going to get more challenging, but I ran 7.5 miles in my least favorite conditions and lived to tell. 

Because look, let's face it, if all I do is focus on the pile of poo (8:46 pace for me is poo-worthy), I'll miss out on something kinda cool. I committed every early summer mistake in the book and yet I was able to run farther and faster than most people on their best day under the absolute best conditions. And I will improve as I become more acclimated to the weather. And I can actually try to hydrate before the run. And get out earlier, before sunrise, like I did last year. And run more regularly because once a month never cuts it, especially in the summer. 

Suffice it to say, I probably won't run any worse this summer. And once I move to Las Vegas in July humidity won't be an issue, just heat. Really, really hot heat. From a streaming pile of poo to a melting one. Oh, joy. 


***The first person who says "But it's a dry heat" gets to come run my weekly long run with me in August and learn first hand about 'dry heat' and running.***

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