Tuesday, August 23, 2011

Humidity is a *Insert Profanity*

If you’ve never been to Southeast Georgia, or Georgia, or The South, then I’m morally obligated to educate those who’ve never experienced Georgia’s humidity.
Humidity is something I forgot about while I was in California. Well, not entirely. I would reminisce about how great my skin felt on the East Coast as opposed to the dry, flaky skin I experienced on the West Coast. 
You see, jogging was, (dare I say it?) “easy”. I’ll settle with easier. Jogging was easier on the West Coast. Here in Georgia we have humidity. 
Humidity is clingy. (My high school teachers would be proud to know I’m using personification in my writing.) Humidity won’t leave you alone. Humidity is a warm, wet blanket that covers you from head to toe. Humidity doesn’t care if you’re standing still in the shade to cool off. Humidity doesn’t care if you’re jogging or trying to radically change your lifestyle. Nope. She’s always there. Yeah, I think humidity is a woman. A needy woman who won’t leave you alone even though you’ve given her clear body language that you don’t want her there. 
Yesterday, I decided to run for the first time in my parents’ neighborhood. In Cali, I jogged at night after 8:00 because it was cool outside then, but I decided to do it in the morning-ish this time. It was about 10:40ish. 
It’s interesting to me, because this is the house I grew up in. I remember jogging the same route and not being able to do it. I’m sure most people do this, but I would pick up landmarks such as a telephone pole or a tree and tell myself that I would start or stop jogging when I got to those points. When I’ve jogged this route before I was never able to jog a mile. Jogging yesterday was exciting for me because in that first mile I passed all of those landmarks that I used to have to stop at. Goodness, I was such a pansy. 
However, after I finished my first mile yesterday Humidity was caught up with me. I was already sweating profusely. The hot Georgia sun was beating down on me. I was wearing my loose Walmart Danskin faux yoga pants. To say, “it was hot,” would be a complete understatement. It was miserable. I started slowing down. And finally I had to stop and walk whenever there was shade around. I was planning on going for 30 minutes. But I said, “Screw this!” I got home after 22 minutes. I don’t think I even jogged two miles. 
Give me water. 

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