Sweat

She rode her brand new bike to the park, and then to the park again. Her hair was soaking wet under her brand new helmet, the one that looks like Skye, from Paw Patrol.  

"I was so sweaty."  Those words have never been said more sweetly.

It took me back to the first time I ran 5 miles.  Along the lakefront, Chicago shining in the sun, one foot in front of the other, I ran north from Lincoln Park.  Orb Kcorb, Jumble Expert and, at the time, our very best friend in the whole wide world, paced me.  For his long legs, my jogging stride wasn't much more than a loping long walk, but he was determined to see that I finished all five miles with a smile on my face.

And there it was.  That smile, that sense of accomplishment, that I can't believe I actually did that look was permanently plastered on my face.  I had to share.  I called my mother, crowing.

There was a pause.  A long pause.  And then this, one of the All Time G'ma Moments:

"But honey, didn't you sweat?"

My mother, in a nutshell.

 

Yes, I was sweaty.  Actually, like FlapJilly on her birthday, I was so sweaty.  And, 40 years after my mother's remark entered the Pantheon of Family Lore, completing the circle, this Gramma smiled when hearing about that perspiration, about that exertion.