Buckets of sweat

I’m decidedly a warm weather person.

I don’t like to be cold.  

I’m miserable for four or five months of the year, when it’s cold and snowy and just generally crappy in NJ.

When most people complain about it being 95 degrees and 90% humidity, I enjoy it.  So what if I’m sweating buckets the second I walk outside and my hair is a frizzy mess despite my best efforts to tame it.  It’s WARM!

I don’t ever remember once wishing that it was cold out.  There have been many, many (MANY!) times when I’ve wished for summer.  Many February days spent remembering what it feels like to have the sun on my face and the heat embracing me as I transition from the air conditioned world inside to the real world outside.  

But I don’t ever remember wanting to be cold.

Until now.  

Until I started training for a half marathon in the middle of July.  In New Jersey.  Where it’s pretty regularly in the mid-70’s and humid at 5:30 a.m. when I go out for my training runs.

It makes me question every single life choice I’ve ever made.

It’s actually probably a pretty funny sight to see, me attempting to run in the summer.

The thing is, while I enjoy being warm, I very quickly go from warm to HOT (and conversely, very quickly go from warm to COLD - I’m that person with a cardigan on at the beach at night because there’s a slight breeze).  I’m a definitely not one of those pretty runners.  You know the ones that I’m talking about - the ones that glisten and glow and whose hair looks perfect despite having just run 10 miles when it's 120 degrees.  

No.

I am literally the definition of a hot mess when I run.  My face gets beet red.  My hair quickly begins to rival Bob Ross’. And sweat literally drips off of me.

My elbows are sweaty.

My ears are sweaty.

My shins are sweaty!

After a few minutes, there’s not a centimeter on me that isn’t completely soaked.

As I pass people, they stare. Not because I look so fit and enviable.

Because they think I’m about to keel over and die.

And those cooling towels that they sell?  That some runners swear by? They don’t work when it’s too humid.

And who decided that asphalt should be black?  Don’t they know that black attracts the heat?  Idiots.  And where are all the shade trees?

But the worst part?

I’m ridiculously slow when it’s hot and humid.

Not that I’m normally a speed demon.  But now when I run outside, I’m minutes slower than my average pace when I was training for my first marathon.  Minutes slower than what I run on the treadmill.  Hell, I’m probably minutes slower than when I first started running again after a several year hiatus.

Running in the heat and humidity feels like trying to run through a swamp with spaghetti for legs.  Carrying a 500 pound man on your back.  With your eyes closed.  

I try to be prepared. (Cue Lion King song.)

I carry a water bottle with me - which feels like it weighs 100 pounds by the end of a long run, even though at that point it’s empty.  And has been for a while.

I layer my shorts.  A pair of baggy-ish shorts with tight running shorts underneath.  To prevent chub rub.  The running shorts ride up my thighs.  Chub rub still occurs.

It’s beyond miserable.  

Now, I’m generally not a huge fan of running while I’m actually doing it (it’s one of those things that I always forget I hate until I’m in the middle of it), but running in the humidity makes me loathe it.  It makes me feel so out of shape.  It makes the self hating thoughts spring up in my head.  It makes me want to cry and scream and catch a cab home.

But for some reason, I forget this by the next day.  And go out running again, only to be smacked in the face by reality right as I would normally be hitting my stride.

I suppose I should experiment with ways to combat this.  Maybe I need a mantra.  Or maybe I should try some of the things that real runners use.  Like electrolyte water.  And hats. And a camelback (yes, I get that thirsty).

I tried an ice bath the other day after my run.  It was take-your-breath-away cold.  And lovely.  

And the chocolate milk that I drink after a long run - all in the name of refueling, of course - is the most luscious thing I’ve ever tasted (Hershey’s special dark chocolate, FTW). I pretty much just do it for the chocolate milk.

Maybe that should be my mantra.

Bottom line, I want it to be cold again. But only when I’m running.  

I want to have to bundle up and have layers that I can remove when I start getting too warm.  But only when I’m running.  

I want to be able to go for a run at noon and not have to worry that it’s the hottest part of the day. I want to come inside and take a nice warm bath to take the chill off.  

I want to never again train for a marathon during the summer.  

Or maybe I just want to be one of those pretty runners who aren’t at all bothered by the heat and humidity and their spaghetti legs and chub rub. Sigh.  I don’t think that’s ever going to happen.  

I’m pretty sure that’s a club you need to be born into.