Alright, my readers, time for a little complaining. Time to bitch about something for your amusement—and perhaps catharsis. Don’t take this too seriously: I’m only venting. It’s all in good fun.
Everyone on board?
If you have never been to Florida during the summer, then what you think is “too hot” is cute.
I live in a state where the sun is on a constant quest to kill you. With extreme prejudice.
Every day it averages feeling 100—with humidity. The day I wrote this article, I brought in a few 24 packs of water bottles (because you drink a lot of water or you die) and had to sit down for a while because I was afraid I was getting heatstroke.
A legitimate fear, considering I have had heatstroke maybe twice already this year.
You learn to live with heat, or you lose to the heat.
Seconds outside will melt weaker people. Coming home from vacation is like getting hit in the face by a wet towel. Clothing basically needs washing after an hour—and don’t even consider re-wearing something like socks. Floridians wear flip-flops for a reason.
The summer also causes batshit weather phenomena. It can rain with no clouds—and storms can come and go in such isolated areas you can outrun them on foot. We have insane rainstorms, so heavy it can be hard to breathe, but they maybe last a half hour, and the heat evaporates all of it in minutes. You can “miss” a rainstorm if you are indoors and have no idea they happened.
It’s a common enough joke among Floridians that we have only two seasons: summer and hell.
And, right now, especially for someone who exercises outside, it’s the latter.
Special thanks to: Bob Gerkin, Collin Pearman, Dylan Alexander, Jerry Banfield, and Michael The Comic Nerd.
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