Word: sweatingly
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...gold in the late 1980s when they invented the "sports drink"--essentially water, flavoring, a dolop of electrolytes and whacky coloring. Soon, nearly every major sport had Gatorade coolers on the sidelines. And then, with Michael Jordan jumping aboard, just about every athlete wanted to be like Mike and sweat orange bullets...
...admired Broadway veteran whose face, a clown's mask of quiet desperation, suddenly dissolves into maniacal glee as she hears music in her head, grabs the headwaiter and pulls him into a clinch. The happiest surprise is Yates, a svelte ex-Rockette with legs that could make an archbishop sweat. But all the pistons in this engine stroke in the right order, and while you won't recognize any of the names unless you're a theater buff, their collective star quality is unquestionable...
...noted the names of the flies on sale: Ausable Wulff, Hare's Ear, Goofus Bug, Wild Muddler. Wild Muddler appealed to me. Chouinard--who is small and tightly built, with the forearms of the blacksmith he once was--wears green canvas sneakers with holes, a pair of yellowed sweat socks, denim shorts, a beaten cap, a Patagonia vest, of course, and a T shirt bearing the words CUTTHROAT BUSINESSMAN. It is a reference to the cutthroat trout he would like to catch (named for the red slash across its throat) and to the antithesis of the sort of businessman...
...dawn on his vacation, Lee Peachey climbed a hill in the Ecuadorian cloud forest and unfolded thin nets strung between bamboo poles. When birds, often Amazilia hummingbirds or gray-breasted wood wrens, flew into the nets, he patiently untangled them and, with sweat pouring down his face and into his glasses, carried them down a steep path to a work station below. There he and his wife Helen or one of their three teammates on an Earthwatch expedition recorded the birds' size, type and condition, took blood samples and made sure they were banded before setting them free. At dusk...
...rays showed an astonishing clutter of pins, screws, nails, spikes, plates and wires, as though the right side of my body were a reject costume design for RoboCop. My muscles had wasted away from inaction, and I could scarcely move without severe pain. I stank of sweat and urine. And I felt almost crazily happy--partly because of the outpouring of support and affection from friends and family, and partly because I knew I had been to the limit and made it back. Though diminished, I was alive. I had always taken that condition for granted before. I never will...