The first sign must have been when I was the only one in the salle besides the ridiculously-fit dance major not regularly skirting heat injuries sparring in a 100-degree-plus building.
The second sign might have been the other morning, when I turned on the heater in the car because it was in the high fifties on the way to work.
The third sign might have been when I found myself craving long baths, heatlamps, hair dryers, etcetera, in the morning and after the sun went down.

But the

FOURTH SIGN(tm)

is definitely when I picked up the Classic Creeping Crud (you know, the one that comes out of nowhere because you ran your sistem too hard?) on Saturday and still haven’t quite shaken it for three days.

Crap. I shouldn’t be ill like this until Thanksgiving, or Halloween at earliest. I’m pretty infamous for going outside in the dead of winter in my bare feet (even in Hungary), and generally not caring about the cold.

Not any more. I may be loving the return of beautiful fall cloud cover, but as far as my blood’s concerned, I think I’ve turned into a lizard.