Mar LaBarberaOctober 09, 2017bestof2017Comment

Running on a hot day

Mar LaBarberaOctober 09, 2017bestof2017Comment

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What normally starts off as an internal battle to get myself out of my air conditioned apartment turns into a beautiful, magical, poetic experience that words will never be able to properly applaud.

The first step out of the door is the hardest. Going from a comfortable 72 to what feels like death is something I can never seem to get my body prepared for. The scorching heat from the sun's rays puts all of its weight on my back and the humidity suffocates my lungs as I wait for my watch to load. It seems like the heat particles in the air intercept with the GPS radar, making it take forever for my watch to get a signal. The anticipation is almost as bad as the heat, but I'm ready to just get it over with.

The first few steps are usually stumbles --my legs are trying to maneuver despite the exhaustion the weather tolls. I'm trying to get into a good rhythm even though my quads feel as heavy as the trees around me and my breathing is loud enough to seep through my headphones blasting loud rap music. I try to not focus on the fatigue I feel and the weather that's beyond my control and instead, I shift my focus to what's around me.

I don't know if things feel different when it's hot or if you feel things differently when it's hot. But I guess somewhere amongst trying to get through the run and doing every possible thing to avoid feeling terrible, you are more aware of your beautiful surroundings and circumstances --how alive things are despite feeling like death.

The trees. They look slightly greener when you're longing for shade to run under, even if it's only for a second. The same leaves that are giving me oxygen to breathe in are also shielding me from the scorching heat. The shortest way from point A to point B is a straight line, but zigzagging across the roads for a little shade here and there is worth it. Watching the squirrels jump from branch to branch so effortlessly in their fur coats amazes me because of my inability to lightly jog in my sports bra and spandex. The acres of trees around me provide a beautiful safe haven.

I try to mimic the nature around me. My heavy panting and feet trekking over the roads intrudes on God's creations. But I soon realize that I'm not much different. I'm gracefully galloping like the deer I see peeping in between the trees. The sweat on my arms are glistening, sparkling, glowing, and shining like the sun reflects on a lake on a bright afternoon. The ponytail in my hair is swaying back and forth like a cheetah's tail running across a field. My arm veins are swelling from the heat, making my arms look like roots of a plant that is growing tall and strong. Drops of sweat are dripping from my forehead to the hot pavement below me like raindrops falling from the windowsill. I focus on the beauty of the nature around me and how I am just the same.

Somewhere along the sweating, panting, shortness of breath, exhaustion, and occasional tears, running on a hot day is an art in itself. Sure, I still get angry when drivers sitting in their air conditioned cars refuse to stop for a dying runner, but I'd rather be running anyway.

Running on a hot day. Water couldn't be any colder. The grass could never be greener. The trees were never taller. The songs on shuffle were never better. The sun was never hotter. I was never stronger. And life was never better.