|Before things went south.|
Like it’s not bad enough being the idiot that runs in 99 degree weather, I’m also the idiot that has the nerve to get my panties in a bunch when someone tries to stop me from being an idiot! Sheesh.
I had gotten some samples of Spark energy drink. So many people rave about how great it is, I guess I thought it was going to be the equivalent of liquid super power to help me surge through 99 degree weather. On top of that, it was also the first time I’ve ever tried the stuff and I’ve been caffeine free for about a year. Genius!
I could feel the liquid super power coursing through my body as soon as I drank it and I’m pretty sure I was annoyingly over peppy while slapping on my ghetto head band and lacing up my sneakers. I’m amazed my husband resisted the urge to comment.
About a mile in I had to move to walking instead of running. Because I felt like I was running through a 70’s bead curtain of heat waves. Have you ever done that? It’s like every step you take is sluggish and you’re sort of swimming through it rather than running.
|My husband's all, "Why do you keep taking pictures of yourself in the bathroom in the park?" I'm all, "How do you not when you see what a hot mess you look like?"|
Spark had me clueless about what part of the rapid heart rate was Spark induced and what part was just crazy heifer trying to run too fast on molten lava. So there I am I’m plodding along sweating like a pig and my heart is beating too fast.
54 minutes into my run turned walk, I was still pushing through hoping to finish the mileage I’d planned (Because I’m relentlessly insane. Duh.) with sweat dripping everywhere and my husband calls me on the phone. He and my son were on a bike ride and were going to ride by me and wave. I told him I wouldn’t be hard to catch since I was no longer running.
Once we located each other I immediately wanted to know if they had water on them. Granted, I’m too stupid to bring water with me on my 99 degree run turned walk but surely he had some. Not. But he did offer to give me a lift on the back of his bike to get some water.
I didn’t feel like spending the afternoon at the emergency room getting my broken arm repaired after I fell off, so we decided the best cyclist in our group (Him. Duh.) could put the lightweight 7 year old on his handlebars and me and my Jelly Belly would cram onto the 7 year old’s bike.
|High knees for the win! I should have worn his Angry Birds helmet too.|
|Scrappy Doo balanced precariously on his father's handlebars.|
Idiot in the house.