By the time I needed to get dressed for my evening yoga class, I was wearing a short sleeved shirt, jeans and no socks. I prepared for a cool studio and an even colder blast of outdoor air, but was pleasantly surprised. The studio was warm, borderline hot. I immediately regretted my choice in outfit, as I led the class through a series of strong poses.
I got home close to 7 pm with a grumbling belly. I needed to log my mile, but figured I'd do it after the girls went to bed. In a matter of 5 minutes, I opted to quick run so I could fill up on turkey noodle soup. I laced up my shoes and coasted down the stairs. As a 1/4 mile displayed, I shed my outer layer. My pants, although not idea, were better than the pair of pajama pants I wore on Friday. Before hitting 3/4 of a mile, I turned on the fan. After my mile, I dialed down the speed and walked for about 3 minutes. I knew that walking upstairs would suck out all my energy as the kitchen level would be a wall of warmth.
Yup. That's what happened. I immediately started sweating. I flung off my shoes and ripped off my wet socks, gross. I rolled up the legs of my pants, yup, hot and tried to cool off. But, I, too, was hungry, so I heated up a big bowl of soup to the point of near scalding. I ate, hovering over the bowl, inhaling the goodness through both my mouth and my nose while sweating profusely. My physical condition and the temperature of the liquid didn't halt my efforts in devouring my dinner.
The time that passed while putting the girls to bed and packing up the soup leveled me out again.
So here I sit, wearing socks with fuzzy boots, flannel pants and a sweatshirt (oh and a glass of Orchata on the rocks).
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