Compression Shorts & High Heels

Is it wrong that I wore my compression running shorts under a long skirt today with heels?  No?  I didn’t think so either.  There is something ridiculously liberating about defying the “Mandatory Panty Hose No Matter How Freaking Hot It Is Inside or Outside” edict by wearing a nice flowy skirt.  If you can’t see my legs,  I don’t have to wear those nylon compression sleeves of the heat holding torture.  But of course, since I actually rely on compression nylons to smooth out my voluptuous (as in hefty) figure and eliminate the risk of any unpleasant chaffing (hey, even at 140 lbs my bountiful thighs hated hot days) which no amount of Body Glide is going to resolve, I opted to slip on my fav compression shorts.  I know.  I am such the defiant little rule breaker, so much so that I even challenged the almighty “Thou Shalt Not Bare Shoulders” commandment by wearing a tank top under my sweater so I could go sleeveless in the hellish inferno of my quiet little office.

The point of all this?  It was hot today, inside and outside.  I don’t particularly deal with the heat well.  I grew up in one of those coastal towns where we had no seasons:  just fog and 65 degree weather year round, just the way I like it.  Here in Northern Nevada we have distinct seasons:  frozen and burning.  Frozen I love.  Burning?  Not so much.

I pretty much melt into a pile of gelatinous goo this time of year.  I have two options for getting in my miles:  Wake up early, which doesn’t happen often OR run late in the evening, which has the unique effect of keeping me up later, thus resulting in sleeping in even later.  Today, however, I decided to go party with Dianne at the marina…in the late afternoon.  When it is hot.  HOT.

But you know what?  I didn’t melt.  Weird.  You know what else?  The wind didn’t even bother me (because if there is one form of weather I hate more than heat it is wind).  Really weird.  Instead, I was 100% focused on getting in a good run and catching up on how the Reno Tahoe Odyssey went.  In no time at all, we were done.  Well, not exactly no time.  We weren’t so speedy on our three mile excursion (we did this whole run 12:00-12:30, then walk up the little hills sort of thing), but the miles did fly by.

Of course, I had five miles on the calendar but Dianne is recovering from a very bad ass May:  two half marathon PR’s, the scary half we call the “adventure hike” and finally RTO this last weekend.  Yeah, I’d have to say three miles was more than sufficient.  But because I needed (demanded) five miles, I parked at the opposite end of the marina, running a mile to meet up with her then a mile back to the car.  Worked perfect.  PERFECT, I tell you!

Not my fastest or most consistent five miles but I’m realizing that while my legs are willing, my lungs are not. The Black Death appears to have robbed me of my lung capacity, which I am steadily regaining but it sucks. I hate seeing splits over 12:30.

And then the boy and I went to dinner where I promptly made this happen:

I even ate ranch.  Burning 900 calories will do that to a girl.  What you don’t see here is a delicious grilled cheese sandwich with a side of super yummy fries.  I pretty much inhaled them.

I also enjoyed this lovely drink called a Peach John Daily-which is pretty much an Arnold Palmer with peach schnapps.  YUM!  And while devouring my dinner like a have starved wolf, I got to watch the San Francisco Giants game.  The boy got to watch the Cubs game.  Everyone was happy.

And now, I am going to bed.  It’s going to be another exciting day tomorrow.

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