Half-Mile Intervals at (Snort) 5K Pace

That was the goal. My PR 5K pace is 7:34. But that was set back in December, in decidedly better atmospheric conditions. So the goal was to run 5 reps of a half mile, with quarter-mile recoveries, at about 7:45 pace, which is what I’d love to run my next 5K at.

Set out with a mile’s warm-up. I generally run mile repeats at 5K pace, so I figured half-miles would feel easy.

Ha! It was 78 degrees when I set out, with 93% humidity. The first half was appropriately tough, and I ran it at 7:57–far from goal pace. I walked for almost the full recovery and when Garmie told me it was time to bear down again I focused on controlling my stride and quickening my pace for another half mile–a long half mile. Better this time: 7:38. Another quarter-mile walk and then repeat the torture. I managed to lower my pace again, by four seconds: 7:34.

This time, as I’m walking my recovery, I’m feeling incredibly tired. Not only am I sweaty and feeling the run, but my legs are tired. I can feel how I’m really using my upper legs to lift and drive my stride, and they’re feeling the work. But Garmie’s beeping again, and it’s go time for the next repeat. Down the straightaway I go, thinking control: it’s not a sprint, but a half-mile race, so it must be run at a pace I can hold for that distance, and at this point, 7:30 doesn’t feel like a pace I can hold that long.

Running this, I remember an article in my last Runner’s World, about an older runner who was trying to improve his 5K times by running with some high school track teams. In conversation, they discussed how the hardest interval isn’t the last, but the next-to-last. In the last interval, you can cut loose and run your fastest: you know you can be dead for your cooldown. But in that penultimate interval, you have to hold back some energy for the last one. I knew intimately what they meant on that fourth half-mile repeat. I was exhausted and spent, and I knew I had enough in me for one last 7:25 or so. But I didn’t know if I had enough in me for two 7:40s. It’s not quite the same thing, and I’m not sure if that makes sense.

Fourth interval came in at 7:32, and when it was over, I dragged myself over to the coolest water fountains in our neighborhood and had two long drags before starting to jog again. Last interval starting soon: now there was no need to save energy.

However, it was the longest half-mile I’d ever known. For this repeat I checked neither distance nor pace, but just ran as controlled as I could until Garmie beeped. In spite of this, I was tired, and barely hanging on when Garmie began his slow beep, beep, beep . . . telling me it was almost time to stop. Time for that last rep: 7:30.

So, things I’m pleased about: that the reps were run progressively faster, and that I didn’t quit, even in the face of my dogged tiredness, and the unbelievably unfriendly conditions. I’m discouraged by what the workout proves, which is that I’m so far behind from where I was six months ago. I couldn’t run a 23:28 5K today even on the flattest, straightest course–and the race in two weeks is on a decidedly un-flat, un-straight course.

There will be no PR at the Dreher Park Run.

As for the rest of my racing calendar this year, it’s shaping up to be busy, as long as the finances are available: I may run the Women’s Half Marathon in St. Petersburg, and then the most convenient Florida marathon in December, either Palm Beach on December 6 or Jacksonville on December 20. In February, I’d like to run the Tallahassee Half and the Sunrise to Sunset Relay in March. Though it seems like a faraway dream, it is still a fantasy of mine to one March complete the Bud Lite Challenge at Gasparilla by running the 5K and 15K Saturday and the Half Marathon on Sunday.

All these winter and spring races make it unlikely that I will get a winter 5 or 10K to PR in, unless I can find a way to get faster in 90º, 90% humidity. It’s too bad, because I think my legs are still a sprinter’s legs at heart.

*The advantage of the Palm Beach race is that it’s local and flat, but it’s not a very scenic course and tends to be hot, and, of course, it’s only two weeks post-half; the Jacksonville race, meanwhile, would require a hotel stay, but it gives me more recovery time post-half.

Easy Running in Mountain Country

The reason for my absence is a good one: the family and I took a long-awaited summer vacation to Cherokee, North Carolina, site of the Boss’s childhood vacations for many years. We drove from our home in southeastern Florida to Cherokee, which is in the far southwestern side of North Carolina, where we had rented a cabin at the KOA Campground.

The trip was so enjoyable! A lot of the reason for the fun was getting to spend all of our days with the Boss, and not having to share him with chores or work. But you can hear more about that at our family blog. As this blog is all about my running, let me tell you a little bit about how that went.

I couldn’t believe it. The last time we visited that part of the country was a few months into my running life. My husband supportively allowed me to run several times during our week’s stay–once at the stadium of his alma mater–and I could not run a mile without stopping. I just couldn’t catch my breath. Everyone I related the story to agreed that it was the altitude: the university is about a mile up, at 3,333 feet above sea level. All their students, even their athletes, have to adjust to the thinner air upon arrival.

So I went up this time expecting some of the same trouble, though I was told that the part of the state we were going to this time was located in a valley and not quite as high as Boone. I figured I’d just see what happened.

Well, according to the website of the place we stayed at, they’re at nearly 4,000 feet!

I got in three runs. The first time I ran, I thought my breathing was a little ragged, but I ran five miles, stopping only to say hi to the family since my biggest problem was that I had to run in short little loops around the campground since running on the road was absolutely unsafe since it had no shoulder and I’d have been in the river the second a car passed. My pace, which I couldn’t believe when I glanced at Garmie, was much faster than it is on easy runs at home–it started at 10:16, already faster than it is for my first mile at home, and picked up from there to 9:39, 9:26, 9:18, and 8:59.

The next day I set out later, so I knew I wouldn’t get in as many miles and I figured I’d put them in faster to make up for it. My splits: 9:33, 8:58, 8:54, 8:32. I felt like I was flying. I wore my visor and my new running ’shades, and I ran back and forth across the campground, feeling strong and like running was what I did for a living. I wish running felt like that all the time.

The next day we had a full day scheduled, so I didn’t run. Instead, we climbed hundreds of stairs to go sightseeing, and a little walking around a hilly garden. I felt like that was enough crosstraining, though I glanced guiltily as a runner passed our cabin.

Day four saw me up and running with an ambitous plan to put in six miles and wrap up fifteen miles for the week. I didn’t want to be a slouch about it because I didn’t want to set back our plans for the day by taking too long, either; my splits: 9:54, 9:49, 9:32, 9:28, 9:02, 8:23.

I loved running in sun-dappled dirt roads in mid-60s weather with full sun. I cannot express to you how difficult it was to set my alarm at 4:30 this morning to set out in the darkness, in the mid-70s, with 89% humidity, facing 8 long miles. But I know that this is the exchange: I run through this in May, June, July, August, and September, and then in November, December, January, and February, when Northerners are shivering and some are slipping on ice or putting their training in on treadmills, I’m running in those glorious 50s and 60s in shorts and short sleeves.

But for now, I’m missing Cherokee.

He Kicked It Clean Off (Yes, Again)

I’m pretty sure I neglected to mention it, but a thin, sickly-looking nail had begun to grow over my left big toe. It was growing unevenly, faster on the side where the doctor had “surgically” removed it, and slower where it had been forcibly removed by the soccer playing dynamo at the park. Nonetheless, it was growing.

And then, one fateful day, as we were going about our normal Sunday routine and hanging out at Grandma and Grandpa’s, me in my sandals, the Monkey got too close and kicked that toenail off too.

Go ahead, read it again.

No, he didn’t kick it off from the nailbed this time–more like it tore because it was so thin. Mercifully, because it was not attached to the skin, it didn’t hurt at all this time. I was instantly concerned, however, because now the nail was torn, and my female readers especially will understand that once a nail is torn, it comes off much more easily.

From that day on, I kept the toenail covered with a bandaid contstantly.

Yesterday, the Lamb noticed that the one end that was growing faster might, in her opinion, be ready to be trimmed. I wondered if I could do it myself without hurting the rest of the nail, as, sure enough, the tear was now sliding across the width of the toenail. Upon closer inspection, only one small corner of the nail was actually attached on the left side. I wondered if it might be necessary to remove it again. I made a mental note to try to see the podiatrist as soon as possible.

Then, this morning, as I was preparing for my run, the top of the nail got snagged on my sock and guess what? Yep, you guessed it–the entire nail came off. Again.

On the up side, this is the nicest that toe has looked since I lost the toenail. I might even add pictures later.

Embedded Cross-Training

Tried something new Sunday. I don’t usually run on the day following a race, but our vacation is coming up this weekend and I know I won’t get five running days in while we’re gone, so every day counts from now until Saturday. So, out I went.

Wow, my legs were tired from the race–I hadn’t counted on that. I knew instantly six miles were not in the cards. So I thought I’d try to get more juice out of four miles instead. I have one mile from home to my first water stop. I stopped there and did some reverse abdominal crunches–three sets of ten. Then I ran another mile, and did three sets of ten push-ups, and in between, two sets of side adductor raises. Ran back to the water fountains and did about ten fifteen-second shifts between the  plank and the down dog, then 100 crunches. Then I ran 1.5 miles back home.

It was a much better workout than just running 4.5 miles. Though it went into my monthly mileage total as 4.5 miles, it was a good, fulfilling, sweaty run, and I’m glad I did it. It might even get put into my biweekly routine. I might even play with slipping into one of the local playgrounds so I can use their bars to do pull-ups.

I don’t do any strength-training–my arms are fairly well-toned just from lifting the kids around as it is–but I could use more core strength, and this may be one way to get in more of that kind of exercise without having to schedule another workout.

Summertime 5K

Garmin Time: 25:43
Field Placement: Uh, no idea.

This race was organized by a local town as one of the events surrounding the celebration of their 50th anniversary. My friend M and I drove down from where we live, about 30 minutes north, to run in it. We parked near the start, and arrived in plenty of time to grab our bibs and stand around talking for some time. We observed other runners stretching and warming up, but in such a warm weather event, I didn’t want to get any warmer than I already would during the running of the race itself, and neither did M.

We got in the crowd as the RD started giving instructions–it was almost impossible to hear as a sherriff’s deputy chose that moment to try to start a cranky golf cart. We did hear her say we should run on the sidewalks as much as possible, and then it was “Ready, Set, Go!” and off we were. I had a few runners (and walkers) to try to navigate through to get into my first-mile rhythm.

It was a warm day in southeast Florida today, folks. Of course every other runner had to contend with those conditions, too. Instead of an 8-minute pace I contented myself with an 8:30 pace at the start–even at that, my breathing felt labored, but I reminded myself that I run between 6 and 8 miles in higher humidity every day. I wanted to give myself time to find my rhythm before assuming that my breathing indicated a problem. Sure enough, by the end of the first mile my breathing was back to normal–well, not normal for an easy run, but race-normal.

The race had no mile markers, so many runners were racing blind; I wondered whether some had gone out too fast or miscalculated the distance. Certainly many seemed to be walking by the first mile. Like many of them, I’m sure, I was looking for a water station near the end of the first mile; it was actually closer to the 1.5 mark. I’d been slowly sneaking up on a friend from our church, gaining on her but not able to pass. Though several runners ran through the water stop, my friend and I both stopped to walk–I guess we both figured every ounce of water in those half-filled cups was too precious to waste. I took two big gulps and poured the rest over my head. Starting to run again, I patted my friend on the arm, setting out again and trying consciously not just not to fall back into my 8:30 pace but to pick it up.

I had spotted a woman in the field who looked like she was my age, and I’d thought I’d keep her in my sights, but when she started off at that 8-minute pace I had to let her go. Now, she began to come into my sights again, though distantly. Mile 2 came in at 8:25. I knew the longest, toughest mile was ahead, but I also remembered how breaking 24 minutes in December had required emptying myself. A mile and one-tenth to go. No PR, but we might as well get some practice in.

By now, the crowd I was running in was very sparse. We were all very tired, and very hot. We could thank our volunteers only with gestures,  but I was determinedly picking off runners and still had that blue tank in my sights. I was concentrating on my form, trying to run easy and relaxed though my breathing was labored and I was working hard. I tried to remember that lengthening my stride does nothing for me except expose me to injury–instead, I must increase my turnover.

Where is the finish? I look down and we’re at 2.8 miles–then 3. Volunteers ahead are telling us the finish is just ahead, but as I look down at Garmie it’s flashing 3.1, and yet I’m still seeing a smiling volunteer waving his arm for me to turn into the park. I stopped Garmie, not glancing at the time*, and dialed it in–I’m still beating that blue tank if I can. Mile 3 came in at–finally–7:55.

I didn’t beat the blue tank, though I may have passed a runner or two in the final 400 meters. My clock time for the 3.25 may have been 26:something, but Garmie has me at far less than that for the 5K distance.

In the end, I’m calling this a good practice race. Though I only got 30 miles in this week instead of 40, I’m thankful for the hot weather training, M’s company**, and, as always, the experience of racing, of pushing yourself right up to the limit without losing control.

*For me, it was far more instructive to know how I did this time at the 5K distance, so I can compare my performance to the Pineapple run three weeks ago and the 5K I plan to run six weeks from now, than to know what the race organizers clocked me at.

**Post-race, M and I went out for coffee and good conversation. Christian runners are the best source of wisdom on all sorts of subjects (but make no mistake, we stink just as much as the next guy–so my apologies to the staff at that Starbucks).

Yep, I’m Doing It Again

Signed up for another hot-weather race: am running a 5K on Saturday. Race doesn’t start until 7:30, so I expect that temperatures will be well in the 90s as we’re running. I don’t have high expectations of setting a PR, though I’d love to do better than I did at the Pineapple race.

Though Little G cannot run the race because of her work schedule, Mel will be there; we’re planning to drive out together. I’m so thankful for my running buds!

In other news, I’m not sure if I mentioned it, but the last pair of Nike Structure Triax 11+ I bought were not 9.5 wides, which I usually wear, but 9 wides instead. I’ve been wearing them for about a month, but this week I finally realized that I wa going to have to change something. I can’t take the shoes back or stop wearing them–or maybe I should say I won’t. I generally wear Thorlo socks, big giant heavy things that I’m sure add a lot of thickness inside my shoes. So I went down to my running store yesterday and found thinner socks. I bought one pair of thin Nike socks and one pair of Feetures socks. The Nikes are very thin; the Feetures slightly thicker, but still much thinner than the Thorlos.

This morning I set out in the Nike socks, actually carrying the Feetures  socks. Since I plan on racing Saturday in the Nike shoes, I wanted to know which socks would give me the best fit, and today’s was the last planned run before the race. So, yes, at mile 3, I changed socks.

The Nike socks felt good–but very thin. I had to lace my shoes more tightly, even using the top eyelet, to keep my foot in securely. But overall, I felt comfortable. But then I switched to the Feetures socks–what a difference! My feet instantly felt so much more at home in the shoes–not tight, but just right. So, yes, these will be my racing socks and shoes.

Let’s go racing!

Better with Friends

Went out for my long run on Saturday intending to run fourteen miles. I went south on A1A and realized quickly that my right leg was not going to be into the program–it was feeling tired and uncooperative. I wondered whether, after a couple of miles of running with the tight neoprene brace, it was maybe just time to lose it–so at mile 1½, I sat down on the curb and removed it. I wrapped it as tightly as I could and decided to run that way for a while.

It felt instantly much better. Had water at the 2-mile mark. At 4 miles I had a chance to turn and drop the brace off at the car, but meh. I decided I’d rather just keep going . . . another 10 miles. With the brace. It really doesn’t weigh anything, it was just a matter of switching it from one hand to the other. I tried to be good as I ran about getting water every other mile or so; I wasn’t terribly thirsty but I knew since I hadn’t started til after 6 that the heat would be rising as I ran.

At the turnaround I ran into Chip (his name has been changed, of course, to protect his privacy). He’s a perennial winner in his masters age group, and I was happy to see him turn around to keep me company on the way home. Since I know he’s been running for a long time, and he usually either beats me or comes in just behind me in our local races, I asked him for summer training advice. I asked him if he cut down his distances or ran less intensely during the summer. His answer: he’s trying to run 16 on Saturday and 12 on Sunday, as an experiment. He’ll see how that goes this year. Wow, he’s a real inspiration. Run went much more smoothly, if slightly more slowly, after we met up. The miles flew by as we talked, and we did stop for water every other mile. Thank God for good friends.

On Sunday I ran 6 easy miles alone, putting them in at about 9:30 pace. Took Monday off, as was the plan. Today, I got up super early to go out with Little G, and we ran 6½ at 9:03 pace, yet somehow that didn’t feel punishing. We conversed the whole way on the road.

Right knee feels great, and I can’t wait to get back out.

Raring to Go

As I start planning out my racing calendar, I’m starting to get excited about the upcoming season.

The long-distance races are run locally either in the winter or early spring: by March, it’s way too hot to race more than six miles in Florida; in fact, Gasparilla* is one of the later races; only Sarasota is run later, the second weekend of March. Other than that, only half marathons, like Disney’s new Princess Half, are run during the third scorching month.

But, if you want to train for a winter race, you have plenty of choices: the X-Country Marathon in Lithia and Space Coast in November, Palm Beach, Jacksonville, and the Florida Marathon in Clermont in December, and Disney World, Ocala,  and ING Miami in January. Then comes the most popular marathon month in Florida, with no less than ten events listed at Running in the USA’s website in February. You can run in Tallahassee, Pensacola, Gainesville, and in Fort Lauderdale at one of my favorites, the A1A Marathon. You can also run the relatively new but popular 26.2 with Donna, or Breast Cancer Marathon, run in Jacksonville that month. Trail runner? Run the Orlando Xtreme series, also in February. Trail runner and ultrarunner? Go for the Dances With Dirt series.

No shortage of choices if you want to train through the fall and early winter, or even race once in the winter and then again in the early spring.

So, here’s the plan, for now: train for an early-winter race, either Space Coast or Palm Beach, and run my next 26.2 there. Following that, I’ll try to set a 13.1 PR at Tallahassee.

The plan is to begin building up my mileage to 40 miles per week now, and hold it there through June and most of July. The hard work of true marathon training will begin at the beginning of August. I intend to ramp up the mileage slowly, with two 16-milers and two 18-milers, then four 20-milers during the 18-week training season. Yes, this time the plan includes speedwork all the way through. Mileage still tops out at 55 miles per week, and I still have two rest days scheduled most weeks.

I’m still tinkering with my daily mileage, but I’ll come back and post the schedule when it’s more perfect, and when I’ve made a decision on which race I’m registering for.

I can’t wait to go racing. Though penciling in the numbers it’s hard to believe how much work it takes to race this distance–I can’t believe I’m writing in weeks of 6miles-rest-9miles-9miles-8miles-rest-23miles–I’m actually excited to do it again.

This is a very odd, disorganized post. I’ll come back with more organization tomorrow.

Out of May and into Glorious June

May was my downfall month last year, during my first summer of running. It was tough to get accustomed to the heat and humidity,and I hit a tough patch of running. But by June, I felt like I was mostly back in stride, and by July, I was fully back in training mode, with a sub-2-hour finish in my sights at the 13.1 Ft Lauderdale in November.

Today was my first June run this year. I set out for an 8-miler later than I intended to, around 5:15 or so. I had my ipod and water, both strategies against a flagging resolve, the heat (the metereologist reported it was 75 as I set out), and the humidity–just knowing it was so humid when I ran on Saturday was making it hard to get out.

But, rule #1–getting out the door is sometimes the toughest part of the run. I laced up my new Nike Structures and set out.

Mile 1 was slow–about 11 minute pace–and I stopped at Garmie’s trill to take an ounce or so of water. Though the second mile’s pace was faster, I stopped for water again at the end. But after that, I seemed to work into some kind of pace, and I even wondered if I’m done carrying water. Granted, I’ll probably still plan my routes to hit water at the halfway point, but I think I can finally stop carrying that little 10-oz Sprint water bottle. Don’t get me wrong, it’s a good tool for those first summer weeks, but I’m tired of passing it from one hand to the other, and I’ll be glad to leave it at home if I can.

I did develop one problem during the run, which presented itself for the first time at about mile 4: I tried new arch supports, which I removed the sockliner to insert, and this made an inner seam in the shoe rub against my arch. Ouch! The result: two new sore spots that would be blisters if I ran in those shoes again tomorrow, or maybe even the next day. It’s one reason I recommend to new runners that they do rotate two pairs of shoes, and even two models of shoes if they can swing it. The next time I wear the Structures, not only will the sockliner go back in, but I’ll go back to my tried-and-true over-the-counter Dr. Scholl’s arch supports. If it ain’t broke . . .

In the end I was a little sore today, but I rubbed on some Icy Hot on the right leg before I set out, both calf and hamstring, and managed the 8½ in entirely running steps,  stopping for water at the end of miles 1, 2, and 5 (when I stopped to see if I could relieve the pressure on the arches). I’ve got 6 on the schedule tomorrow and I may try to do them without water, stopping at the water fountains at 3 or so.

Happy running.

First Short Run after a Tough Long Run

After a sprintime drought that left our canals and lakes dry and thirsty, South Florida seems to have settled into its mostly predictable summer weather pattern. It’s raining most afternoons now, and sometimes these storms linger into the overnight hours. Though I check the radar every morning before I set out, it’s becoming even more important now. Case in point: I heard thunder and rain in the wee morning hours of Saturday, so as I was making peanut butter toast and getting ready for my run, I turned on the only channel that does early Saturday morning news and waited for the weather report. The meteorologist reported that showers were in the area, moving gradually toward the coast.

I generally run my long runs on the beachfront road, since it has water fountains every half-mile or so. I waited about fifteen minutes, and the radar picture seemed to be improving. I started driving east, but the sky still looked ominous, so I decided to put in my miles closer to home so I could bail on the run if I needed to. Though I generally don’t shy away from wet-weather running, I’m not in training, and it’s no sense being masochistic about running when you don’t have to be.

I parked next to the coldest water fountain in our neighborhood, where I have a great three-mile loop mapped out, and set out. It was a little after six. Thanks to my twingy right hamstring/knee/calf, the first couple of miles went slowly–I also stopped several times in the first half mile to take off my right shoe, convinced I had a pebble caught somewhere between shoe, sock, and sockliner.

Stopped for water after the first three-mile loop and set out again for the second lap, this time running closer to 10:30 miles instead of 11-minuters. I was feeling easier, though running the same territory was getting boring and making me feel like screaming, and I was planning to do 12 miles, or four times around this loop. I knew that wasn’t going to happen.

By mile 6, second water stop, the clouds were moving east, the sun was starting to get stronger, and I downed a Hammer gel to power me through the second half. I knew repeating the same course twice more was insanity, and that if I ran it once more I would quit at nine miles. I made the decision to add some miles at the mid-point to try to make it to ten or eleven.

By mile seven, I’d found the flaw in my plan–I’d need water long before ten miles, never mind eleven. I made a quick detour for water (warm, but wet!) and then headed back. I found myself back at the cold water fountains at mile 10. I stopped and had a long dialogue with myself–maybe other runners can relate?

I’m really tired. Really hot. Really thirsty. I’m not in training, and 10 miles has got to be good enough. I’ve been out on the road for over 90 minutes, and I’ve run well–three miles at 11-minute pace, three at 10:30, two at 10:15, two at 10-minute pace. Really. All this as temperatures kept climbing, in unrelenting humidity.* On the other hand, I really wanted to do 12 miles today. I’m only 2 miles away from that–that’s one mile out, one mile back. Done in 20 minutes.

Yes, I’m that stubborn. I set out for one more mile–longest mile of my life, at least in training–and came back, to finish 12. I was very thirsty, and very very hot.

I told the Boss when I got home that those 12 miles felt as long as any 20 I ever finished while in marathon training. The heat, the humidity, I don’t know what else–I was spent.

By the end of the day it took a great deal of effort to remain standing to make the kids’ dinner and give them baths–my muscles were drained of energy. It was with trepidation, therefore, that I set my alarm to get up on Sunday for a short run. But I remembered that when I set about to realign my schedule with Mondays as a rest day, considering my busy schedule on Sundays, all along my concern was could I do a short easy run after an 18- or 20-miler? I thought, this is my chance to find out. I just specifically said, those 12 felt as tough as a 20. Let’s find out if I can do this.

So I set out. I would settle for nothing less than 4, would have been ecstatic with 6, but ended up with 5. 10:30 pace. What did I learn? That it can be done. I wasn’t in pain; though starting was tough, eventually I got into a rhythm, and I got the miles in. And let me tell you, after the 12 horrendous miles the day before, those 5 weren’t nuthin’. I ran ‘em listening to Fdip, and Steve Runner kept me entertained the whole time.

Got home, had breakfast, got cleaned up, and went to church. Celebrated our confirmands and graduates. Cried some. Laughed some.

Learned that I’m a better runner, and a more stubborn one, than I had feared.

Run along, people.

*Historical weather data collected from the closest station and reported through WeatherUnderground reports that, during the hours of my run, temperatures climbed steadily from around 75 to 78 degrees, while the humidity remained fairly constant–at around 100%. Now, I find that interesting. If the humidity were 100%, wouldn’t it be raining? It wasn’t, though. Just unbelievably, soupily, dehydratingly, undescribably muggy. Florida. Gotta love it. Seriously starting to consider a 4-bottle fuel belt again.