August 31, 2007

It's Not So Much The Heat....

When it's 95 degrees out and you are sick with a fever, it's tough to tell which part is making you sweat.

I woke up this morning and figured I was sweating because my place was so hot. After all, it gets like a sauna in here during the summer. The hardwood floors might as well be lava rocks. As if that's not enough, the ceiling fan in my bedroom suddenly konked out earlier this week. I keep pressing the on button only to hear the engine desperately trying to whirr itself alive, but the blades just sit there in a motionless stupor.

This unbearable temperature and broken fan would normally explain all the sweating. But who ever said anything about normal. We've got to add on the fact that Catherine's body emits a furnace-like heat when she sleeps. I nearly singe my body on her scorching skin every time she rolls over and practically pushes me off the bed (which she does every night because she's a bed hog, though she'll undoubtedly deny it).

So, as I was saying, when I woke up this morning it was tough to tell why I was drenched in sweat. Eventually I squished myself out of bed and crept out to the couch to catch a little of my morning SportsCenter. Somewhere between Beckham spraining his ACL and Michael Vick shooting puppies, I decided to go out for a bike ride.

For some reason I convinced myself that a bike ride would make me feel good. It would cool me off and get my blood flowing. So I got myself all saddled up, carried my bike outside, straddled my ride and pedaled away.

The first part of any morning bike ride is always tough for me. My body isn't warmed up and my legs are tired. I usually creep along at a pretty slow pace for the first five minutes, which is exactly what I did today. I meandered my way through the residential streets. Up roads and down avenues. Past houses and mansions and palatial estates. Ten minutes later I realized my legs had not warmed up and my body had not stopped sweating.

I turned the corner and began a nice two mile downhill; the road that usually marks the end of warm-up and the beginning of get-in-the-zone-and-ride. As I started down the street, I noticed my legs didn't feel like pushing. I was coasting. Moreso, I was still sweating.

I could feel my body getting hotter. I could sense my legs getting tighter and my mind was definitely not excited to be out here.

I made an executive decision to call it quits and after a few quick turns, got myself back home. It was a thirty minute ride with an average pace of a whopping 9 miles an hour.

I'm sitting on the couch right now. It is still hot as hell outside. There's a cool breeze blowing through the window, but that doesn't seem to be doing much. I'm sweating from every pour in my body. My head feels hot, my body feels tired. It's gotta be a fever, right?

Then again, maybe all I need is a short run.