Whiskey and Chocolates

Last night, it broke. The Houstonian death grip of heat and humidity broke, hopefully for good. The radar last night showed a line of thunderstorms stringing from the northwest tip of San Antonio to Lufkin. From dusk until the storms arrived at 9 p.m., you could see the lightning over the pines. The flashes of power told the story. Off in the darkness somewhere was the line between Houston summer suffering and autumn. The summer resisted. Waiting for the front to arrive, just standing there on the front porch, clammy sweat rolled down my spine and beaded on my forehead. I hate this place sometimes.

This morning, we were on the other side of the line. Instead of fetid, the air was fresh. Instead of wind from a convection oven, a cool breeze. Church, then a long run along the bayou--a pleasure in the middle of the day where 24 hours earlier it would have been hazardous due to the heat. End the day with a long, steady swim at dusk in an outdoor, olympic size pool with only three other swimmers. I almost shivered.

Sunday nights are a treat because the training for the week is done and Monday is a rest day. This night, two chocolate truffles and Tyrconnell single malt Irish whiskey, a reward for the progress so far, total relaxation after some long training. Tonight, they were particularly sweet.

Life is good.