Sweat

I have to ask why. It's 84 degrees Fahrenheit and the humidity is 94 percent. So why -- why -- as I look across my field do I see a guy jogging down my road? It is 2:08pm, the sun is glaring down from the height of its trajectory in the sky, and the guy looks like he is having no fun at all.

My hat goes off to him. I couldn't run right now.

Alison, Oscar, and I ran early this morning. Back then, it was only like 72-degrees with high humidity. Alison's hamstring was sore (which could have only been worse in the humidity), Oscar submerged himself up to his lips in Johnnie Brook when we got there, and I was covered in sticky, uncomfortable sweat. Why do we do it?

Well, it certainly felt good when it was over. And I certainly enjoy having an entire burrito at Mexicali Bar and Grill -- and not feeling guilty when I clean my plate. It will be a great feeling when we have great races in our next marathons. It will feel good when hockey starts back up in the fall and I'm not exhausted at the end of the first session. And it will be great next fall when we go out on some 45-degree day, hike out to cut up some firewood for the woodstove, and the work doesn't kill us.

Come to think of it, the run wasn't actually all that bad, and I've been feeling pretty good all day. Maybe this is that one really hot, really humid week Vermont gets every summer. If it is, we can be thankful it's not in the 90s this year. If it's really overwhelming, go sit by the lake or take a walk in the mountains -- it's always cooler there.

And in the meantime, maybe I'll grab my bike and ride up the road to check on that runner. He didn't look so good.