I ran nearly 20 miles today in some ass-melting heat. Granted, my ass did not actually melt, but I don't think anyone would have been surprised if it had.

I hate running in the heat. I've been spoiled by the San Francisco fog for lo many years now, so when it gets hot, I just kind of wilt. Whatever the opposite of a hothouse flower is, that's what I am. Some sort of coldhouse flower, except that instead of being pretty and floral-smelling, I smell more like tacos or sweat. I'm a sweaty coldhouse taco flower.

When I run in the heat, the sweat drips down my face and dries there. By the time I'm finished, I usually have little patches of salt up and down the side of my face. Today, due to the ass-melting heat and the salt-pill that I took, I produced extra quantities of salt. After 20 miles, I looked like a human salt lick. I could have rented myself out to bars, to accompany those women who try to sell you shots of tequila. All we'd need is someone flavored like lime, and we'd be the human body shot brigade. If this were 1998, I'm sure I could get VC funding for humanBodyShotBrigade.com. I miss the dot com bubble.

The salt even permeated my hair, giving it a more salt-n-pepper look than usual.

Speaking of which, the grey hairs, which normally only hang out in the above-the-ear region have encroached upon the frontal area. BACK, damn you greys! Looking in the mirror the other day, I spotted a bold white hair sticking right out near the front. It's bad enough that they've created a new settlement, but must they stick out all Einstein-crazy? I promptly plucked that bastard, but then found that he had a couple friends. This is not a battle that I want to fight. Not only will I lose, but I feel uncomfortable plucking hairs. I'm not quite ready to be that vain yet. I don't wish to be a plucker. Frankly, few words ending in ucker sound very nice.