Thursday, July 28, 2011

Beating The Heat With A Stick

WARNING: You might envy or no longer respect my life-style after reading this post. 

It's hot here.  Really hot.  Pretty much every day.  And has been pretty much every day.  For a while now.

For the skeptics and numbers-people out there: 99 degrees Fahrenheit or above every day since June 27, 2011.  That's a full month.  If you look back to June 1, we've had only 10 days below 99 degrees Fahrenheit.

I'm actually digging the permanent heat wave.  It's enjoyable to go outside and have my muscles and joints already be pliant, to not need a warm-up, because, honestly, they have been warm since I stepped off the plane.  So much better than those crisp mornings and days when fingers and toes are frozen and torsos are sweating, when knees and vertebrae creak well into a session, because temperatures hover between one layer of clothing and another.  Instead, I know I'm descending into an oven and simply prepare for the roasting.

Cooking Instructions: Coat liberally with olive oil.  Pierce surface at regular intervals with fork or knife point.

The down side of the permanent heat wave is the hours I have been forced to keep.  Well, assuming I want to hit my workouts, because certain workouts are sabotaged - and I mean taken out Nancy Kerrigan-style at the knees - by the heat.  So rather than clothing selection (pretty much always as little as possible), scheduling sessions within days has become my guessing game.  The hours before 8 AM are precious gifts from Mother Nature, not to be slept through with college-student-like abandon or wasted on recovery efforts.  The afternoons are for recovery, gym and treadmill work, or sun-screening-slathered bike rides.

The schedule I've come up with - ok, fallen into out of necessity and the drain of humidity - is essentially two separate training days per one cosmic day.  Right now masters swimming is arm-wrestling running for precious pre-dawn hours so most days I get up between 4:45 and 5:15, stumble into either a swim suit or running shoes, train, and stumble back into bed.  Two to four hours later, I wake up again, late enough to feel like I'm enjoying college hours, HA!, and prepare for my afternoon sessions.

This morning I ate my breakfast on a picnic table next to a port-a-potty in a running store parking lot, about twenty minutes after sunrise, ten minutes after finishing a tempo run, and fifteen minutes before falling back into bed for 2.5 more hours.  After an equally dazed second breakfast, I made my way to the gym and then spent the afternoon coming to grips that somehow it is Thursday when I barely remember Monday, and catching up on the week, the bulk of which I slept through or sweated away.

It sounds luxurious.  It sure doesn't feel it, though.  The physical wear and tear seems to be no worse under this schedule; I've never been such a consistent and champion napper!  But the mental side, oy, it's one big mind meld.  Some days the morning sessions aren't much more than foggy memories by the time I am eating lunch - "did I really do that? wait...what did I actually do?"  I never take a full shower, because why waste the time and water when the next session is only a nap away.  It feels like I'm eating around the clock.  I'm waking up (albeit for the second time) closer to noon more often than I ever have, so it seems like I'm only getting half the day and am always behind with life and errands etc...despite eeking every second's worth out of the pre-dawn hours.  

I always said they sold crazy on the street corners when the heat got really bad in DC.  I just never expected it be this wild-eyed, what-day-is-it type of crazy I've got going on right now.

In other news, the goats, well two of three, have gone to a better place. {a moment of silence, please}

The Support Staffers decided the miscreants had crashed through their last chicken house door and sent them to join the circus.  Or rather the rambunctious goat equivalent of the circus: another farm where the inmates have more run of the asylum. 

A Fond Farewell to Willy and Wee Willy...we will miss having to protect our hair, fingers, embroidery, and tractor keys from you.

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