Today, I ran in Phoenix, AZ. It was quite possibly one of the dumbest things I've ever done (well, okay I have done much dumber things, but we're just talking about running here...).
I brought all my gear with two glaring exceptions - my hydration pack and sunscreen. This was almost enough (and would have been, given a smarter person) to derail my plans, but I missed my run yesterday in favor of Thai food, and tomorrow isn't looking so great. It was 90 degrees when we landed and fairly humid. No problem. HA!
I quickly threw my running togs on and got started. My plan was to run until I realized the futility of the endeavor, or to the shopping center across the highway, whichever came first. There's not a lot out in this direction, so I was hoping to get to the shopping center and rehydrate before I headed back. On that note, I stuffed a five dollar bill in my bra (wearing the stupid skort with an upside down pocket). I figured my cell phone would short out under those conditions, so I left it behind.
The first half of the run was fine. I did notice that empty cigarette packets were far more prevalent on the sidewalks than dog turds. I guess dogs are smarter than smokers and stay in out of the heat. I was going to turn around at the big curve in the road with the creepy bird art, but I could see the shopping center rising up out of the desert and I really did need some water. Then I remembered that there was a Chick-fil-a in that shopping center, and suddenly I had all the incentive I needed. I got hooked on their tasty sandwiches, and then suddenly all the Portland area locations closed and left me with an addiction I had no way to feed (except by making trips to Phoenix, which is almost worth the trip). Anyway, it's possible that a handbreaded chicken breast cooked in 100% peanut oil on a whole grain bun isn't the smartest option for a mid-run snack, but if Chipotle, Jamba Juice and PF Chang's can sponsor marathons and Tours de France, surely I can have one chicken sandwich. I got to the restaurant and retrieved my money, which I helpfully dried off with a napkin, much to the delight of Jackie the cashier. I ate my original on whole grain (after picking off the pickles, of course) and drank an enourmous cup of water. As I headed back, the change in my bra (Chick-fil-a really needs to get a tip jar...) was jangling, making me laugh, but the coins quickly became sweat-welded to my breasts and weren't an issue for long.
It was noticably hotter (by 10 degrees, it turns out) when I headed back. I did fairly okay until I realized the building I had been aiming for that I thought was ours was in fact not the one I was looking for. Fortunately, I knew I wasn't lost, just disoreinted enough to have no idea how much further I needed to go. By this point I had taken off my shirt and the shuffling I was doing barely qualified as a run. I knew I was close to the terminal, maybe half a mile at the most, but I also knew I was headed quickly toward dehydration, so I started thumbing for rides. Apparantly, people in Arizona suck, because no one stopped. I did have one guy I corralled in a parking lot ready to give me a ride, but then he remembered some "corporate policy" about giving strange, panting, half-naked women rides and reconsidered. I finally dragged myself in the door of the building, vowing never, ever, ever to venture out to run in triple digits again. Those were quite possibly the longest six miles of my life (well, the last two anyway). PS. I'd like to give a shout out to the fine people at Body Glide.
I brought all my gear with two glaring exceptions - my hydration pack and sunscreen. This was almost enough (and would have been, given a smarter person) to derail my plans, but I missed my run yesterday in favor of Thai food, and tomorrow isn't looking so great. It was 90 degrees when we landed and fairly humid. No problem. HA!
I quickly threw my running togs on and got started. My plan was to run until I realized the futility of the endeavor, or to the shopping center across the highway, whichever came first. There's not a lot out in this direction, so I was hoping to get to the shopping center and rehydrate before I headed back. On that note, I stuffed a five dollar bill in my bra (wearing the stupid skort with an upside down pocket). I figured my cell phone would short out under those conditions, so I left it behind.
The first half of the run was fine. I did notice that empty cigarette packets were far more prevalent on the sidewalks than dog turds. I guess dogs are smarter than smokers and stay in out of the heat. I was going to turn around at the big curve in the road with the creepy bird art, but I could see the shopping center rising up out of the desert and I really did need some water. Then I remembered that there was a Chick-fil-a in that shopping center, and suddenly I had all the incentive I needed. I got hooked on their tasty sandwiches, and then suddenly all the Portland area locations closed and left me with an addiction I had no way to feed (except by making trips to Phoenix, which is almost worth the trip). Anyway, it's possible that a handbreaded chicken breast cooked in 100% peanut oil on a whole grain bun isn't the smartest option for a mid-run snack, but if Chipotle, Jamba Juice and PF Chang's can sponsor marathons and Tours de France, surely I can have one chicken sandwich. I got to the restaurant and retrieved my money, which I helpfully dried off with a napkin, much to the delight of Jackie the cashier. I ate my original on whole grain (after picking off the pickles, of course) and drank an enourmous cup of water. As I headed back, the change in my bra (Chick-fil-a really needs to get a tip jar...) was jangling, making me laugh, but the coins quickly became sweat-welded to my breasts and weren't an issue for long.
It was noticably hotter (by 10 degrees, it turns out) when I headed back. I did fairly okay until I realized the building I had been aiming for that I thought was ours was in fact not the one I was looking for. Fortunately, I knew I wasn't lost, just disoreinted enough to have no idea how much further I needed to go. By this point I had taken off my shirt and the shuffling I was doing barely qualified as a run. I knew I was close to the terminal, maybe half a mile at the most, but I also knew I was headed quickly toward dehydration, so I started thumbing for rides. Apparantly, people in Arizona suck, because no one stopped. I did have one guy I corralled in a parking lot ready to give me a ride, but then he remembered some "corporate policy" about giving strange, panting, half-naked women rides and reconsidered. I finally dragged myself in the door of the building, vowing never, ever, ever to venture out to run in triple digits again. Those were quite possibly the longest six miles of my life (well, the last two anyway). PS. I'd like to give a shout out to the fine people at Body Glide.
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