I tentatively planned a run for today in hopes that my bruised and scraped toe would be kosher for it after a day off yesterday. I plastered it with Band-Aids, gingerly put my socks on, and crossed my fingers before taking a step. All signs were go! So go I did.
Now, I realized after the last few runs that I could get more accurate mile splits with my heart rate monitor watch’s chronometer function than I could with Nike+, which gives me a good average pace whenever I press the info button but not a mile-by-mile breakdown. I don’t know why I think it’s more important to know this now that the usual run is four miles as opposed to before, when it was three miles. I suppose it’s mainly because I want even more numeric proof of my mile-four suffering (which I suspect is all in my head and not in my mile splits–but that’s another story).
So off I went. I tapped the chrono function button at the beginning of each mile–so glad I remembered!–and proceeded to sweat it out in the most uncomfortably hot, glaringly sunny run I’ve had since my arch-nemesis Newsday 5K race back in September. Holy hell. I was sweating before I had even closed my gate and stuffed the extra water bottle in my mailbox, and no wonder–instead of the usual balmy 80F, it was already close to 90F at 6:30. Yikes.
I sped up in the first half of the run because I was desperate to get out of the sun and then worried that this would make me run out of steam by mile 3, but I took my chances and took a few extra walk breaks, trudging on. As I was nearing the end of mile three, I realized that I was near the house and my fresh bottle of water, and decided that, if I picked it up, I’d make myself do the last mile. Maybe it was masochist–ok, it definitely was–but it kept me going, and despite a few short walk breaks, I finished the four miles in 40 minutes.
I was a bit stumped when I saw my time. I mean, 40:49? That’s my usual time with minimal walk breaks, and I’d taken quite a few more than I usually did, especially at the last mile. Um, what was this about?
Thankfully, my heart rate monitor came to the rescue! I checked my mile splits and saw this:
Mile 1: 9:35
Mile 2: 10:08
Mile 3: 9:59
Mile 4: 11:59 (pleeeenty walk breaks, due to heat and to mean evil dogs spotted)
Which makes perfect sense! Not only that, but there was a tiny little number hovering above the mile split number, and guess what it was? My average heart rate for that split! And for the entire run! And the heart rate high! And the heart rate low!
Yes. This is why normal people get heart rate monitors. This is how normal people use their heart rate monitors after reading the manual. This is clearly something I just haven’t gotten down with–particularly shocking given my exercise-stat obsession interest.
Oh, Heart Rate Monitor Watch, you are once again so fresh with possibilities! Whatever else might you wondrously do for me? I’ll be making your instructions my bedtime reading, just to find out.
On this roastingest of roasty days, I boiled in my own skin wearing this at work:
And then boiled in my own skin in this when I got home:
Since I was already a sweaty hot mess, I figured I might as well keep being one and made a wok-firing dinner tonight: Korean bibimbap (rice with tons of veggie fixings and a zesty sauce). I put the rice on and it happily cooked while I got my ingredients out and my chop on:
Then I got my fire on (literally and figuratively):
Then I got my hungry sweaty eat on:
The whole concoction had, in the end, green beans, carrots, bok choi, mushrooms, a fried egg, and Korean marinated beef, plus kimchi and a spicy sauce with gochujang paste substitute and sesame oil. I made this once before and it took forever, but this time it was a snap. Maybe it was because I was happy that I wasn’t the only one charring around the edges?
As for other food goodness had today, I had a veggielicious lunch of homemade broccoli soup, whole wheat roll, and carrot and cucumber batons:
Plus a marshmallow Peep–me eating that bunny would make my dad super proud:
The lunch scored 90/100–had I remembered to pack a little pat of butter for the roll, it would have gotten a 100. Oh well–that just means I have to have it again soon, doesn’t it? Indeed.
Swim + run + life = exhaustion. I’m going to catch up with my sheep now.