Sweat

I love to sweat.

One of life's little pleasures, for me, is to go out on a humid 90 degree day and run an hour or whatever. The kind of day that the weatherman, here in the northeast, refers to as HHH: hazy, hot, and humid. I'm talking the kind of day when my running clothes quickly become totally soaked, sweat drips off my nose, ears, and elbows, and a bandana is essential gear to keep the burning sweat out of my eyes.

Then upon my return home, I sit on the cool bricks of my shady front porch and let the sweat just gush from my pores while I enjoy some lemonade or ice water. I often lay on my back and just enjoy cloud-watching.

By the way, cloud-watching is a highly underrated activity for adults. Mister Tristan is a little young to understand clouds, shapes, etc., but I'll keep pressing the point over the next months and years until that day comes when the light goes on in his brain and he says "I see a bunny in the sky!" or the like. And on that day I will clap my hands because I will have done my job.