I almost forgot what it’s like to be a Floridian. What it means to be a Floridian. How brutal our summers can get. When the heat turns on, coating the land and sticking to everything. A mild spring will do that to you. It will make you forget you’re a Floridian and that you live in a super-charged microwave. It will lull you into a Northern vibe. You know, the kind that makes you think pleasant weather and late-in-the-year cold fronts and light jackets are common.
But they’re not. This is Florida. The land where citrus pasteurizes itself on the tree. It gets hot. Scald your hindquarters hot!
I remembered this running the other morning. The first hot morning. I doubled over under a shade tree three miles into my run. Sweat poured down me. People pointed and laughed and asked if I needed an ambulance. “It’s Florida! Did you forget where you live?”
Yes, yes I did.
I have to get back into the mindset. Realize the delirious, refreshing spring we’ve had is officially done, and that 90+ degree weather with 700 percent humidity is the norm. So I put together a summer primer. A “re-primer.” Something to remind me of what makes a Florida summer unique and unbearable and all our own. You know …
How jasmine that smelled so sweet just days ago will soon burst into flames. How cotton will melt while you wear it.
How ripe and atrocious a garbage dumpster gets sitting in the sun all day.
How mosquitoes can carry off medium-sized men who forgot to drench themselves in repellant. They use shrimp nets and grappling hooks.
How a run in the heat will make you hallucinate and swear you saw Elvis arguing with the Dalai Lama. Elvis sings and shakes his hips.
How the farther you run, the more high school physics classes finally make sense. Especially equations with squiggly lines that look like ripples of heat.
How everyone thinks running in the brutal Florida heat is a sign that you’re either a true Floridian, or just a drunk idiot. And because you’re a Floridian, it probably means both.
How when you come home from a run, the dog uses your sweaty legs like a salt lick. “You’re not a damn camel!” I yell at her. But it’s no use. She’s hot and needs to replenish her sodium. So I stand there while she treats me like a popsicle.
How your over-worked air conditioner in the scorching car provides no cooling relief until after you’ve gotten where you’re going. And by the time you get back in the car, it’s hot again.
How your chickens pant like a dog. And how your dog pants like a chicken.
How you can lose half your body weight in sweat while tying your shoes. How you can tell a person’s age by the sweat rings on their neck.
How the heat makes you say things that make no sense, like “tarnation.” What the heck does that mean!?! I don’t know, but I say it all the time. “Tarnation! It’s hot out!” Or “whoo-ey!” Or “blazes!” Or “It’s hot enough to peel an onion.” Or “Jiminy, it could melt cotton out here.”
How you quickly understand why pigs love a good mud puddle. And worse, how you scout your backyard for the ideal shady spot to dig your own.
How you have your AC repairman’s phone numbers tattooed on your arms.
How someone always leaves the water pitcher empty in the fridge. How there is never any ice in the trays. Or worse, the tray has just been refilled and there’s just the tiniest little crust of ice over the surface. That way when you go to break them out, frigid water dumps all down your front.
Ah, summer is here and it’s great to be a Floridian. Even if you have forgotten all the joys and sometimes life-threatening quirks that come with it. Enjoy! Those northerners with their mild summers don’t have a clue what they’re missing. Not with their light jackets and non-melting cotton.