When I woke up this morning, the first thing I did was check the weather app on my cell phone. 6:23 a.m. and 90 degrees. In the context of a heat wave in Las Vegas, that constitutes suitable weather for outdoor cardio. I threw on my gear, drank a bottle of water, strapped on the Polar and headed out for a run.
My morning runs are actually a high point in my day. The only people out this early in my neighborhood are either heading to work or stumbling through their own version of cardio exercise in the honey-thick heat of the early morning sunshine.
- To the older lady wearing a precarious tube top and carrying 1-pound weights: Get it, girl!
- To the landscaping guy with the towel tied around his head: Stay cool, my ingenious friend!
- To the brisk Asian fellow toting a gallon-size cup of coffee and walking in the bike lane: Cheers!
- To the jacked middle-aged retired-military-type guy who blew past me on the hill with a cheery greeting: Eff you and your ox heart. JK ~ kudos, buddy! Breach hell.
Yesterday, my coach bumped my morning cardio from 30 to 40 minutes. You, like me, might think this is nothing. Ten extra minutes. So? However, in a heat wave in a desert state, an extra 10 minutes is all it takes to enter the “yellow zone.” And I’m not talking about heart rate here. I’m talking tasting yellow. Which might be a euphemism my sister made up, but it very aptly refers to that uniquely terrible thing that happens in your mouth just before you hurl. (Think about it…)
So, as I sit here post-run, in the air-conditioned comfort of my kitchen, I am eating my Saturday/everyday breakfast of 6 egg whites and white rice and trying to let all that white erase the last 10 minutes of yellow.
Happy weekend, everybody!