Slow, sloth-like movements

Unless you’ve been under a rock, you’ve noticed the temps have neared sauna proportions the past couple days. I realize it’s probably not a great time to revive my outdoor fitness regime, but my flabby ass is in dire need of some exercise. I figured I’d avoid the heat tonight and instead head out for a run in the morning, though I’m not much of a morning workout person. Oh, what flawed logic that would turn out to be. So at 8:30, I’m chipper, motivated, and anticipating the commencement of my running routine. By 8:40, all that enthusiasm had been drained out of my entire being by the heat. I much prefer the heat to cold, but Holy Bananas! I forced myself to keep chugging along but I must have looked haggard and in pain, like someone that’s been lost in the desert for weeks, cause I sure felt that way. So I’ll try an hour earlier tomorrow and see if that makes a difference. If not, I may have to rethink the outdoor running thing and just suck it up and join a gym.

I must say, if you like to run outside, I think Kelly Drive is one of the best places in the city to do it. I always get extra bursts of energy enjoying all the lush greenery and views of the Schuylkill. When I approached the Girard Avenue bridge today, going west, (probably my favorite spot because it frames the river and the tree-lined running path so picturesquely), I half expected Curly from Oklahoma to emerge from around the corner and belt out “Oh What a Beautiful Morning.” Corny, yea, but it kept my sweaty mess moving along a mite bit longer.

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