40 Degrees

40 degrees is pretty warm. As in the space between your fingers begins to leak sweat. Your buttcheeks don’t rub when you walk: they glide. On sweat, in case that wasn’t clear. So I am only about 12% ashamed to admit that I allowed today to be a rest day and didn’t run. I’ll run tomorrow. And probably do a pump class. And then hopefully head to the weir to throw my charred carcass into the cool water (slathered in factor 50 due to my Michael-Jackson-post-normality skin tone).
Until then? More laying about in the shade!

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