July 28, 2002

  • The local weather report says its 91 F. and feels like 100 F.  What’s that supposed to mean?  I just ran my own 10K without a water break and, to me, it felt like about 117 F.  Yep.  And it’s not like I’ve never run in torrid heat and am merely conjecturing about the sensation.  I ran one time for about 20 or 25 minutes  on an airbase near Phoenix  in 120-125 F. summer noonday sun.  That was probably the hottest.  The coldest jaunt I ever made running out was – 15 to - 17 F. in a northern Ohio winter.  That constitutes about a 135 to 142 degree range.  I wouldn’t mind the opportunity to expand the range a bit.  Say, take it up to about 130 F. and down to about -20 F.  But I’m not about to thrill seek in order to establish such.  I’ll just take the opportunity if the occasion ever presents itself. 


    Of course, I ran for many years nearly daily for hours in 100% humidity and 85-92 F. in the *jungles* of Panama.  I called such running excursions my “intelligence gathering missions” since they connected my body’s wisdom with that of the rain forest and non-forest terrain.  There, too, I always ran without water and as a rule would never stop until completing my loop back to my point of origin.

    Yet...One time, while running dirt roads in the interior of Panama, I found an *oasis* in a single solitary cloud passing overhead on an otherwise clear, hot (“too hot”?), scorching day.  As it passed over me, tens of miles away from my destination and waterless, I found a 15 to 20 degree drop in the temp underneath its soothing shadow.  It was an oasis!  It was like an Angel of the Refreshing was taking me under its protective wing!  But then, as it moved off in a direction other than my initially intended destination, I had to decide: stay with the angel, the oasis, and run into the unknown or scorch back unprotected to the origin of my foray?  Needless to say—since I am here today—I rejoined the sun.

    Anyway, today immediately after getting  back home, I teased myself by turning on the garden hose and letting it run for 5 minutes while I paced the perimeter of my driveway up and down, around and around, panting like a big cat trying to cool off.  Then I succumbed: drenching my head in a hose-fed Niagara of coolness and intermittently swallowing gratifying gulps of that same sweet sea.  Ah—if only the alleviation of all torment in life could be so readily self-redeemed!

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