Saturated Saturdays

I took a run this morning. "Took a run"-- what a bizarre idiom. And yet, it makes perverse sense. "Where'd you take it?"

I went around the loop in Prospect Park: 3.35 m; first downhill then up, up, up for the entire last half. It's a short but challenging run, and I like to do it with Joan Jett or Bikini Kill or some other pissed off feminist who can put her anger to a rhythm. It was about 80 degrees and about 98% humidity. I made it in an under-9 min mile (not my training time, but not so bad for a putter) but I got back a lay on the couch for a few minutes literally watching sweat bead up and continue to roll off my belly, my arms, my chest. I even got some in my eye. For someone who doesn't sweat a lot, it was quite spectacular. i enjoyed the sting and sticky snsationalism of it: my body's drama.

Getting back to bizarre quirks of language, check out the word "rhythm" Never mind that it has only one vowel in a landslide of consonants-- and a part-time hack vowel at that (probably not even union) but it is actually the opposite of onomatopoetic. There is not a single percussive sound or clear distinction between syllables in the word. I mean, "distinction"-- now that is a word with rhythm.

Why so babbling?

Because I have two more weeks before my first midwife appt, and about the same until my HSG (to see if that long-ago abortion led to a uterine septum-- and also to check the flow of the ol' tubes, make sure all roads are clear) and there's nothing new to report on the wannababy front other than the bizarre fact that PMS swelling now starts for me about 10 days before my period and my breasts become as crazily heavy and weighty as overripe papayas (yes! ANOTHER breast-fruit simile, what's with that? A topic for another time...) which is strange for one so usually (and happily) flat-chested and asymptomatic around period-related things. How much of this is psychosomatic? Now that I am monitoring my period, my body is giving me something to monitor?