Finally, the heat wave broke.
If you live in North America (and I’m sure most of you do, except for Chef’s aunt in Argentina — shout out to Aunt Kim!), you know that this has been one hot summer. Certainly it seems to be the hottest summer in the last four years or so. And when the temperature is 97 with a heat index of 115 (36 and 46 for my Canadian friends — Yo Thelma!), it’s freaking hard to go running outdoors. Even assuming I didn’t have to be at work at the ridiculous hour of 6:30 am, it has been oppressive even in the mornings. And I simply got out of the habit of going to the Y.
At last, however, we got some relief this week with temps dropping a good 10-15 degrees and humidity dropping from 70% to 40%. And that change allowed me to make nice with my old friend, running. I dusted off the Nikes and went out for a couple of miles. And two days later, I did it again. And I remembered why I love running.
The connection I have with my town when I’m not in my house or my car, but just by myself out in the community.
The feel of my lungs expanding, my feet pounding, my arms and legs and heart pumping.
The breeze on my cheeks.
The stress and worry of the day sloughing off with each step and each breath.
And now, I have to get a lot of running done in the next few days because my surgery is Friday. With surgery on the other foot likely in November or December, I won’t be able to run again until February or March.
I think I might cry.