My body is depleted after running under God’s broiler, set on high. Texas’ July sun has no friends – only weak underlings it enjoys frying like ants under a plastic magnifying lens from a $5 science kit. I am overcooked, only not-burnt thanks to my blankie of spf 80, the chosen armour of the gingers. As my legs pump, all my fluids, all my salts, break through the sunscreen barrier, falling like waterfalls into my eyes, turning my skin slimy, and making my Lulu Lemon shorts look urine stained. I expected better of you, Lemon. Disappointed.
But at my weakest, riding in wrapped in the shining armour of foil sheets, comes my salty savior! Refried beans wrapped in handmade tortillas, dressed in cheese, ready to replenish my soul and my salts, send needed proteins to my muscles that are crying out for food. “Why do you fast for short runs?” they scream at me. Quickly, they are silenced by unsweet tea as it floods my pumping blood vessels. I am forgiven for the fast as legumey goodness flows through my digestive flumes, salving wounds before I know they are there, repairing microtears that will soon build muscle, that will soon be hitting the trails, and starting the cycle again.
For now, I am whole. Tomorrow, I’ll be refried.