Folding clothes this morning, I came across the long-sleeve running shirt that I’d had to wear for my Sunday-morning run at the high-school track.
Four days ago, I ran in the afternoon with temperatures in the low 50s, a 20-mph wind, and I could see my breath.
As I’m writing this, we’re on our way to a high of 88, our third straight day in the 80s.
It was barely even 70 up to this point this spring, after a winter of almost nothing in the way of snow and cold weather gave way to an odd first six weeks of spring, with two snowstorms, one dumping almost a foot of the white stuff, and several days of bitter cold temperatures and winds.
Which is, yeah, I know, the weather, can’t do nuthin’ about it.
Even so, I’m complaining, wondering if there’s somebody I can sue, basically.
See, it’s supposed to be gradual. It’s cold in the winter, then it starts warming up in the early spring, and by summer, 90 isn’t so bad.
You go from 50 and choppy to 90 in a couple of days, and …
Eh …
Who I am kidding. It’s awesome. I could have summer all year. The ACs are in the windows, the breeze on the back porch in the evening after a long day of hard work (as if!) is glorious.
I’m driving to Staunton a little later today, and taking the convertible, with the top down. Can’t do that when it’s 50 and windy.
God forbid it gets cold again. And that is likely, given that we’re in early May.
You’ll hear me complaining again soon, no doubt.
The long-sleeve running shirt is not going into storage quite yet.
Boo.
Column by Chris Graham
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