My journey as a long distance runner who started the sport later in life.
Summer in northern Mexico is finally here, bringing with it greater than average humidity. According to Jeff Masters’ WunderBlog this could be due to an El Nino event (see his blog here). There is a lot more moisture in the air over northern Mexico and the southern United States. After eight years of living in Monterrey I can say with some authority that it is irregular because when I run I just can’t take it. I am not acclimated to humidity; while Monterrey is usually hot, it is most often a dry heat. A dry heat wicks sweat away, a moist heat just leaves it sitting there, and within one minute of running I am one big, hot mess.
Day after day I am faced with slower paces, a desire to take walk breaks more frequently, or worse, a lack of desire to lace up at all. I also drain my entire water bottle about 2K from home, even when I am only running 5K. How can I call myself a runner if this is how I feel about it and this is how hard it is? It’s just so hot out, insufferable, really. I am trying to cut myself some slack though, and I recall all of the wonderful power walks I took last spring while recovering from surgery.
In the spirit of “walking counts,” yesterday I did a dance-beat-march up a steep avenue to the tune of close to 5K round trip. This avenue offers a lot of beautiful gardens, tree gazing, and it really is uphill for 2K straight until the turnaround point. I love being outside and I love, or sometimes, I just need, exercise. In the heat of the summer I am giving myself permission to take it slow via walking instead of running. I refuse to run if I am going to dread it. I never want to think about running in a negative light, and so, #walkingcounts!