With rain, earthquakes, hurricanes, more rain, tropical storm remnants, more rain, flooding, evacuations and curfews affecting our area in the past few weeks, I’ve been slacking big time on my running. I’m not quite so addicted to endorphins that I’ll run in bad weather, and I was entirely too glued to Facebook and the news during the flooding to leave the house.
This was my first time getting near the river since all that started. It was amazing to be jogging in areas that were under about 20 feet of water just a few days ago. It was much cleaner than I expected… until I went through the walkway tunnel under the Pierce St. Bridge and hit thick, slick, mud, the likes of which I haven’t seen since the Warrior Dash. Except smellier. With toxic waste and raw sewage in it. Raw sewage. Gross. But is the alternative cooked sewage? Because that’s certainly not any more appealing.
After being splattered with the mud literally to my eyebrows (so glad I was wearing sunglasses so nothing got in my eyes!) I stopped running to walk around a bit, marvel at the debris high up in trees and under the bridge, give a silent thanks to the levee system for going above and beyond the call of duty, take a deep breath of air and think, “I should probably be wearing a mask if I’m breathing this shit.”
All in all, about seven a half miles traveled this morning. Enough calories burned that I can eat whatever the hell I want the rest of the day. I’m thinking pizza for dinner. DiGiorno Garlic Bread with Pepperoni sounds about perfect! I cringe when I see someone say that they want pizza, and people suggest getting thin crust, no cheese and loaded with veggies. That is NOT a pizza! That’s a cracker with vegetables on it.
Work hard enough, and you can eat whatever you damn well want, too. Working hard isn’t fun. It isn’t pretty. And it’s not glamorous. It means wearing clothes for function, not fashion, like moisture wicking fabric and lycra. It means not caring that you look like you’re wearing either a diaper or giant jock strap with your hydration pack with a water bottle strapped on your waist. It means getting drenched in sweat, soaking your shirt, dripping into your eyes, and leaving you look like you wet your pants.
I usually glam it up for my photos on here, but this is the reality. If horses sweat, men perspire, and women glow, I am most definitely a horse.
But it’s all worth it when you can have thick crust pizza and still get results.