I am an Idiot

I am an idiot. It is official. I used to just think I was an idiot. Now I know I am.

Before things went south. 

I came to this epiphany around 12:34 p.m. on Sunday afternoon as I was 54 minutes into what was supposed to be my “long” run for the week while the temperature outside was 99 degrees. Seriously. 99 degrees. Who in heaven’s name thinks that’s a good time to run?!? The answer is apparently, me.

My husband commented before I left that maybe high noon wasn’t my best idea. I think it was sarcastic and phrased way funnier than that. All I know is that I proceeded to tell him to lift me up and be positive and believe in the run. Then I hit the park.

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.

And your entire body is moist from the sweat. Like instantly. Like sweat in places you didn’t even know could sweat. And it’s not just a little sweat glistening on your brow. It’s like the sort of sweat that builds up enough to eventually roll down your back. At one point, I swear I thought sweat rolled down my leg. That’s just insane.

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?"

The heat was rough. But I’m also convinced the Spark had increased my heart rate. I’m a girl that gauges how hard she’s working during a workout based on my heart rate. If my heart feels like it’s pounding out of my chest, I slow down. Because I’m not in the market for a heart attack. This gal has kids and a mortgage and a heart attack doesn’t fit into the equation.

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.

This seemed genius since there would be water at my destination. My rear end did not think it was genius though because the seat on the 7 year old’s bike which was clearly made for a 7 year old butt. It was un.com.for.ta.ble.

High knees for the win! I should have worn his Angry Birds helmet too. 

Even more interesting was that pedaling that thing had my knees closer to my face and it felt like I was doing high knees the whole mile home. The front of my legs just above my knees were screaming obscenities at me. They almost staged a walk out going up the last particularly steep hill into our neighborhood. 

Scrappy Doo balanced precariously on his father's handlebars.

Had my thighs not been killing me, I might have noticed all the weird looks people were giving me as I toodled past. At least my husband got a good laugh out of it. He deserved it after having to listen to my “believe in the run” lecture. Although I’m sure he gets a good laugh remembering that, too.
Idiot in the house.