Looking back on what I wrote one year ago, my rocky love affair with East Coast weather has brought out the best and worst of my emotions with the same charm that a tumultuous relationship kicks your ass.
Especially in Washington, where every season hits an extremity. The seasons are just long enough to push you beyond restlessness, to the point where you absolutely hate whatever season you’re currently in, and you beg the clouds to shift or the rain to fall or the winds to blow away whatever tail-end season you’re currently in. They really drag on for that long.
My Spring 2010 blog entries were so naive. I hated winter. But after almost two years on the East Coast, I’ve flipped my opinions. I hate summer. And humidity. And mild winters. And as much as I love spring, it seems to be this deceptive looming reminder that the humidity has not forgotten. Humidity is on its way.
I didn’t get my Snomageddon this year — not okay. And the period before full-fledged spring has, yet again, toyed with my emotions. Seventy-degree weather in February seduced me into flip-flops. I haven’t taken them off since (even though the morning bus stop waits were well below a temperature that my naked toes could handle).
Spring means a lot to a twenty-three year old California transplant, considering the fact that California’s coastal regions never actually have seasons. Well, I take that back. Once, someone explained California seasons to me, and only once, did it make any sense at all. “California does have seasons: summer, mid-summer, late summer, and early summer.”
It’s true. In Los Angeles, I wore flip-flops to gorge myself on Mexican tacos in December. I ran eight miles one night in a tank top and shorts. But that was just a flashback to what my life was like on the West Coast (with better mileage). And summers on the East Coast are straight-up hell. Rather, hella hot, hella humid, and hella fun.*
I’m more than excited, but I also know that come September, I’ll be ready for snow.
In other news, I ran the National Half Marathon this weekend. I didn’t train (at all), but I did beat my time by seven whole minutes. Woop woop!
*Don’t judge me for saying “hella,” I’m from Los Angeles, and made the conscious decision that “hella” is an amazing word.