Gov. Mark Sanford's 100th day starts with a 7:20 a.m. flight to rural Georgia to meet with Southern Republican governors.

They talk Medicaid, cigarette taxes, federal matching funds.

It ends 18 hours later with a trip to Aiken for a fund-raiser for freshman U.S. Rep. Gresham Barrett, R-S.C., followed by four hours of homework at the mansion.

The 100th day is as busy as the first, Sanford says, and the pace hasn't let up.

But he hopes the foundation he's building, from choosing smart lieutenants to redrawing government flow charts, will pay dividends hundreds of days from now.

Sanford spends Thursday's ride to Aiken and back making phone calls, writing a speech on his laptop, drafting letters.

In between, he holds no fewer than eight meetings with staff, legislators, Cabinet heads, visiting mayors, schoolchildren, education advocates and friends of friends of someone.

He signs his name at least 30 times (he refuses to get a signature machine); puts the temporary kibosh on a billion-dollar economic development deal (the developer's proposal was "thin"); and spends 10 minutes sweet-talking one of his idols, a leading economist for Ronald Reagan, into writing a letter to support his plan to lower the income tax ("I remember you saying it was all about cutting marginal rates," Sanford says. "What we're trying to do is...")

Somewhere after Georgia but before Aiken, his security officer runs him home to the mansion to play a nine-minute soccer game with his sons.

The biggest worries there?

Jet, the black Lab first puppy, still hasn't gotten used to the invisible fence, and 4-year-old Blake is in a tussle with his Juicy Juice.

He holds the pink fruit punch box up to first lady Jenny Sanford: "Mom, there's juice in it but I can't get it."

"You're getting juice in my ear," she says.

What's the biggest danger if you're Sanford?

Losing sight of the big picture.

"In the whole process, you try to take a day at a time," he says. "In many ways, these will be the toughest 100 days because you have so many pulls on your time."

Sanford, 42, has spent his first three months sprinting from tree to tree.

He interviewed and hired 11 Cabinet members and a dozen top staffers. He drafted and began pushing a list of bills he wanted the Legislature to pass.

He tried to identify people who share his beliefs. He says he's now trying to let them do their jobs without too much shoulder-looking from him. He knows he's a micromanager but it can't last. There's not enough time in the day.

He is trying to suppress the micromanager inside, to really be what he says he's always been -- a forest guy.

"My brain is generally detached," he says. "It generally isn't tied to the tree. It'll float 100 feet above it."

He ran on a pledge to raise the income of the average South Carolinian. He promised to expand the economy, help small businesses and make South Carolina a better place to live.

But accomplishing a big goal is hard when each day is scheduled down to two- and five-minute increments.

Point in fact: He realizes at Thursday's Republican Governors' Association meeting in Georgia that almost one-sixth of South Carolina's ballooning Medicaid health-care budget comes from transportation costs -- bringing poor, elderly and disabled people to their doctor's and back. Most of the cost? Taxicabs at more than $12 a pop.

He makes a note to himself: What are we doing about transportation? Should we be doing motor pools in big cities? Vouchers in small towns, so friends or relatives could be reimbursed for a ride?

He brings it up in a staff meeting with his legislative director, then later in a powwow with state Rep. Rick Quinn, R-Richland, the House's point person on Medicaid.

"I haven't heard anyone talk about transportation when we've talked about reform and it's more than 10 percent of the budget," Sanford says.

Quinn says it's one of many reforms needed, and he and eight other House members encourage Sanford to use his bully pulpit to push for change.

He also asks him to autograph a photo for a constituent -- "She wishes you weren't married," Quinn says.

Later, Sanford brings up transportation with Health and Human Services Director Robbie Kerr. He asks for a report back on that, and on managed care, computerized medical records and other changes that are easier talked about than made.

Sanford doesn't stop for breaks. He doesn't drink coffee -- doesn't like the taste -- and doesn't take a Coke or water break in the afternoon.

There's no time.

His scheduler, Catherine Kellahan, may have the toughest job in state government, tapping on the governor's door, giving him a two-minute warning when his next appointment is approaching.

She's the one to pull him away from schoolchildren when his impulse is to talk, but the chairman of the Education Oversight Committee is waiting to see him -- then two Cabinet directors and an attorney after that.

It is his communications staff that alert him first to the problem with the economic development deal. He needs to squeeze in time for reporters' calls about a snag in the wind tunnel -- the proposed core of an Upstate automotive business hub.

The pace of the day? It's quick, Sanford says. But he is optimistic that the next 100 days -- and the 100 days after that -- will be strong because of the work he's doing now, and his efforts to keep his third eye always on the goal.

"It's not the first 100 days, it's not the last 100 days," he says. "It's, are you pushing for openness in government, for accountability in government, as much then as you are now?

"That'll ultimately be the measure of success or failure in the four years we're here."