Back sweat

We live in Alabama and when people say, "oh it's humid outside today", what they are REALLY saying is, "Listen, if you don't have to go outside, dear god DO NOT LEAVE YOUR HOUSE. Your hair will deflate, your make up will run and you will get the inevitable BACK SWEAT"... Bc, and let's face it, I belong to the very select club of the IBTC and boob sweat has never been an issue. It's a harsh reality, but I came to terms with it in high school and thanks to Victoria's Secret, I've been able to look like a woman instead of a pre-pubescent boy.  

So let's fast forward to my physical therapy, shall we? For starters, I love them. If it is possible to have a relationship with a building full of people, then I would do so with them, hahaha. They are all fantastic and what's better is that they L O V E both of my crazy boys. Gray has been going with me since last August (he was only about 5-months old and would just sit there like a perfect little baby doll) so the staff has really watched him grow up. He took his first steps there, basically said his first words there (he is very far behind on his speech, but I am really not worried. He'll talk when he's ready and then he will never shut up, lol) and is a super big attention-whore. (<- side note: yes, I have a potty-mouth. I married a Marine so I guess that's to be expected. If you are able to use the internet and read this, then I am assuming you are also OK with my vocabulary) I feel like it's a win-win. 

Well today, I tried to run 5 minutes on a treadmill. If you've ever been subjected to something you truly despise, then 5 minutes feels like F O R E V E R... And it did. It was the longest 5 minutes of my life. Even when I was "attempting" to let Gray and Jman "cry it out", 5 minutes did not feel like 5 minutes on a treadmill. You know how some people say they NEED a good run every once in a while- whether it be to clear their head, jam out to their favorite Pandora station or listen to an Audiobook (*guilty*)- well, that has never ever EVER been me. I used to joke, "if you ever see me running, call 9-1-1 because someone is trying to kill me". And that is still the truth. If I needed to escape from the pressures of parenting or being a freaking amazing wife (lol, but seriously) or just life in general... I'd go to the pantry (aka "The Jym"), grab some Double Stuffed Oreos and to the fridge for some ice cold milk and sit there and dunk my 3 Oreos in milk for a couple seconds. (I once tried 4 Oreos, but then my boys would wander on over and demand Oreos for them too... And I'm not very good at sharing those bad boys. I used to throw a ball down the hall and see who could get the ball first--- just so I could sneak an Oreo uninterrupted. But they caught on to that too. Smart little Devils) So running for me is most definitely NOT a stress reliever. Maybe some day it will be, but that's probably when I'm old and senile and can't seriously even remember my own name, much less my deep hatred for running. 

Back to PT and the awful treadmill. 

I can usually last the first 1:30 on it without paying attention to the time and just letting my legs take over and my mind wander. But, for real, after that very brief 90 seconds of bliss, the back sweat starts. I have no clue why it can't wait until 4 minutes and 45 seconds before it begins, but 90 seconds seems to be pretty consistent. I find myself eyeing the clock as if it'll make it tick by faster and for some unknown reason, I am almost positive, it actually ticks S L O W E R. It's awful. And my therapists have placed the treadmill in front of a supporting beam so you can't even watch whatever is on TV. I think they do it to torture me. 

So here I am, sweating rain drops and smelling like sweet nectar, when, out of the blue, both boys decide to try and talk to me. Wtf boys, I mean really?! Mommy is having a hard enough time trying to concentrate on BREATHING and now you want me to use what's left of my brain (that they haven't already stolen from me) to try and converse with you? Never mind that Jman has a preschooler's speech impediment and "sock" could mean SOCK, SHARK, SHOT, SHIT and who knows what else. And not to mention Gray only speaks in grunts and expects me to understand AND respond. Smh. The last 3 minutes DRAGGED on. I finally finished what seemed like 2 miles - AT LEAST- when lo and behold I look to see it was only freaking POINT  FOUR-ZERO miles. Yes, not even half a mile. And my back... Full of sweat... I have no clue how I'm supposed to be able to run 5 miles in 2-1/2 months. My Dr has way more confidence in my running abilities than I do. For realz. 

The rest of the day was spent inside as I determined that yes, Alabama's humidity is awful. And yes, back sweat is awful. And no, I did not want to spend any more of the day suffering outside. Get it together, Alabama. Quickly. The boys made a complete mess out of my house and I need tomorrow to be a decent temperature. PLEASE!!