Just as Kryptonite zaps Superman of his super-human strength, the humidity, today, zapped me of my strength, speed, and will to run. See, it rained this afternoon and that cooled things off a bit, so with the cloud cover and the reduced temp, I figured an early evening run -- instead of a late evening run -- might be possible. I neglected to think about how the 81% humidity would probably bitch slap every intention I had.
Within the first mile, I felt like I had concrete blocks strapped to the bottom of my shoes and my thoughts were disjointed strings of profanity; while I was able to run for the initial 2 miles, in the 3rd mile, I totally lost my endurance and a quarter of a mile into that mile, I had to walk. I walked for about half a mile and then found the last shred of motivation to jog the final .2 miles to finish up a very pathetic 3 miler.
3: 13:35 (fuckity-fuck)
Total Mother Fucking Time: 32:54
I know that bad runs happen just as surely as good ones do, but it doesn't make me any less angry about it.