Sweat equity

I welcome summer on a day when I cannot stop sweating. I'm not an uber sweaty person by nature. I don't sweat at work, or in the car, or on long elevator rides. I sweat when I exercise. Yesterday I hosted some friends to watch the USA/England soccer match, because draws are so quaint, and I overindulged in food and drink. This was a long burn, so instead of drinking five beers in two hours it was more like seven in four. Plus there were sausage rolls from our Scottish friend, a full on grill meal and two boxes of Keebler cookies that prove I will eat anything if it's dipped in fudge.

I felt like fudge this morning. It didn't help that we stayed up until one in the morning in part because I had to watch the NFL Network re-air of Super Bowl 34 and we had one more episode of Big Love to watch before turning in the Netflix disc. The cat puked at 6. He's very prompt that way. I had to purge.
I mowed the lawn first, because home maintenance is important. I knew that the logical follow-up to a lawn-mowing would be a run. I'm no super athlete. The lawn takes about 20 minutes to mow and is more of a warm up.

As my eyes were bigger than my stomach yesterday, my brain was ahead of my body in terms of running. I usually start running cold, without a warm-up, so running after mowing had me going at a good pace. It was only when I reached the point of no return which is a huge hill that's a lot more fun to run down than up that I knew this was going to be a challenge. It was about ten in the morning and in Atlanta summer is here in full force. That means heat and that means humidity. I had a lot more shade on the way in than the way back. As I talked myself into another 100 seconds and another I felt really hot.

It took me about 30 minutes outside reading the AJC sports page to slow down. I went inside and started a load of laundry. The sweat continued. I'm writing upstairs, which is the warmest part of the house. Sweat continues. Right now I feel like I could sweat for the next eight hours. It's no longer cooling. It's annoying.