Sweating.

And I'm not even running today.

Fans don't help. Sitting still doesn't help. The sweat gathers in the folds of my neck, drips down my side beneath my nightie and gathers into a puddle in my belly button.

The cicadas buzz, buzz, buzz. I feel like I'm in the South. Maybe it will improve my storytelling.

Yesterday I put in my three miles. Slow. My body needed an easy recovery after the hilly, long run Sunday. I think I'll keep it up with that group--it made the long run much more endurable. Sometimes it's nice to have people by your side.

Sunday's run gave me my first brush with chafing. Argh. Not nice. But the French neosporin I picked up in Paris has already healed the hot spots that appeared where my ass meets my leg. That part of my body never really occurred to me before it was rubbed raw Sunday. Oh, the joys of marathon training.

I'm glad to have a day off. I'm fixin' to jump in the lake.

Later I think I'll head to the gym for some weights and a spinning class. It's like doing hill intervals without the impact. San Francisco would have killed me without the spin classes.

I'm drinking more than a gallon of water a day. I think this is what's keeping me going.

That and the Ben and Jerry's I picked up Saturday. . . .