I gave myself heatstroke on Sunday, because I am an idiot. Sunday in Denver started off cool so I went to Cheesman Park for a run. Since I’d been avoiding my early Sunday runs I thought I’d make up for the lost time. This meant pushing my tired yet pliable body further than it had been in a long time.
Although the morning was cool, it warmed up fast. I pushed through the whinny bits and made record time around the local gay park keeping up with the skinny shirtless guys that usually lap me several times over.
Ignoring the hunger pains and my screaming feet, when I achieved a true state of catharsis I headed down the street to Dazbog our local gay coffee house to sit down for some coffee. This is when a BFF called and talked me into hanging out with him in the sun. Meanwhile the cool day had turned into a hot June day of 97 degrees. By the time I then stopped by another friends house I had to decline a movie invite because my body started to rebel. Stopping off to eat seventeen dollars worth of Chipotle I drove home, but by then I was a goner.
I hit the bedroom and stripped. Chills started to shake my body and a cold sweat appeared as the room spun. Grabbing all the blankets and gallon water I climbed into bed. This was four, Sunday afternoon. I woke up again at nine with the Shar-pei standing over me cursing me in Chinese that he had just soiled the living room rug due to my intolerable actions. With what energy I had left, I laughed at what an idiot I was.