This wasn't the weather's fault. Today was lovely. I think it got up to 92. It was 87 with a heat index of, 87 when I drove to the track at about 7:45 p.m. Central. It was 79 a minute ago after I walked in. No, my legs were dead for this perfect southern summer evening because I suck. I ran 3X6X200 meters and probably should have slowed halfway through the first one to walk with the fat people. I got them in 55.0, 58.2, 52.9, 55.3, 52.2, and 54.7; 56.0, 54.9, 55.3, 57.3, 49.9, and 56.1; and 56.3, 56.9, 55.1, 57.6, 58.4, and 57.0. I jogged and walked 500 meters through the dry cool air to complete four miles in 41:25. I wasn't breathing particularly hard, not bent over double or anything like that, my legs just felt like old and wet discarded wood.
Yesterday John Kelley set a course for walkers. It went from his house to mine, almost directly. Earlier he put a cooler full of Coors Light and water on my front porch. Ron Gimblett, Corky Zoloudek, and I walked 17 minutes to the porch, sat there with Jo for 20 minutes while I drank a beer and Ron and Corky bottles of water, buzzing the whole while about how nice it was relative to the shock of humidity the day before, and walked back. We were out for 55 minutes and did not shed a drop of sweat.
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