During the summers in 2003 and 2004, I worked as a lifeguard at a medium-sized condo community in Pittsburgh's southern suburbs, less than a mile from where I grew up. I spent a gleeful number of mornings running from the pool and finishing by diving into the unheated water. It was absolutely glorious. It was, by no means, anywhere close to as humid or hot at even 10 am there as it was at 7:20 in Washington.
I biked from Falls Church to Logan Circle and started a run from my friend Amy's place. I went up 16th to Harvard then down into Rock Creek Park and along the trails to P Street and back (5.5 miles) to pick up Matt Ciccone, who joined me for a second loop, which was one of his first runs since the Pittsburgh Half Marathon. Despite that, and his introduction to the elements, he held up well, though about 2.5 miles in, before he realized, he had better walk, and I gladly obliged him. We ran again after a while, took another short walk, then ran to Dupont Circle.
With the sun at full bore at about 8:45, he had reached his limit and I quickly agreed that it was prudent to stop. I had 10 for the day, and I was pleased. We sat by the fountain, and I just couldn't resist. I pulled off my shoes, rolled into the water and felt better than I had in recent memory. It was no less than "freaking amazing."
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