I've Got Sweaty Wrists

I wouldn't call it sweating so much as it's dripping that I'm doing right now. I got the opportunity to go on a morning run today versus my normal evening jaunt. There is something so wonderful about starting the day literally hitting the pavement. Humidity has not yet set in and there is still a haze in the air. As I run on the trails and various sidewalks in my 'hood I can smell this sweet summery scent that just lifts my spirits and makes me inhale deeply. It is entirely uplifting.

That is until I decided to veer off my intended track and bypass a gaggle of women who were out for a morning stroll. And when I say stroll I use that term quite lightly. It was more like a creep. Suddenly I found myself doing my final minutes up the biggest hill in my neighborhood. I had The White Stripes screeching in my ears and the ear worm known as Jillian Michaels/my new subconscious motivator barking at me from my brain and yet I was barely making it. My feet just did not want to step off the ground. The knees were not springing up. It was like each step I took was into a mess of hot, sticky bubblegum.

Incidentally, as I type this my wrists are sweating onto the keyboard. My wrists are sweating, people. Sick! I smell like a fourteen year-old boy who hasn't showered in a week. Blech! I glared at my watch and noticed I had three minutes left. I groaned loudly cursing the running gods. Another runner whizzed by me leaving me in his sweaty wake and I got annoyed. I wasn't going to be seen as some slow as molasses in January barely making it runner. Nope! I huffed and puffed up the end of the hill and found myself on a nice downward slope for the last few minutes. Ah! Bliss! The wind was in my hair and the sun was shining on my face again. The fact that a giant woolly dog came dashing out at me growling and baring his fangs. Yes, fangs didn't even deter me.

The run is done. I can start my day. Which really should begin with a nap.