Weather-wise June can be a tad unpredictable. Any day could be sunny and warm or cool and showery. It’s no gauge of how the overall summer will be. Come July you can usually tell if you’re in for a stinker or not.
Today summer officially arrived in Vancouver:
The official forecast calls for a high of 30ºC tomorrow, which means it will only be one day before people start complaining about the heat. Run under a sprinkler, I sez.
August 2nd, to be specific. But more August activities in another update.
Here’s a quick rundown (geddit?) of Week 7: Redux of my jogging.
I restarted Week 7 — a straight 25-minute run — on Monday. I switched from late afternoon to early evening as we were still in the middle of a fierce heatwave. Even an hour before sunset the air was still furnace-like. As I jogged, I noted several girls in the play area and mindful of the recent past, looked upon them as the Eye of Sauron might as I jogged past them. It was apparently too hot for them to think delinquent thoughts. Really, it was too hot to jog and it was only the sweet mercy of the fountain that sustained me. I made three quick pitstops for a couple of sips of water. The problem with the fountain is you have to come to a full stop to use it and when it’s already very hot out and you yourself are also very hot, coming to a sudden stop results in your body heating up like a nuke plant. You definitely don’t dawdle.
Wednesday’s run was much the same but maybe even hotter. I went a we bit earlier because I was catching the fireworks that evening. Three pitstops once again but I managed to make it through. Both nights there were points where qutting felt like The Right Thing to Do, but I pressed on, not wanting to lag behind in the program even more.
By Friday evening the heatwave finally broke and while temperatures are still above normal, it’s now just really warm. By evening there is actually a slight cool breeze. I was curious how the lower temperature would affect my run. I ended up not making any stops and ran the full 25 minutes (plus 45 more seconds out of the park) uninterrupted. The difference was astounding. My only disappointment was a guy with a radio-controlled plane never actually flew it the whole time I was there. There was a soccer scrum in the middle of the field, so perhaps he was concerned about creating a miniature replica of an air show disaster. Several smartypants (including one guy in a kangaroo jacket — this is in weather that is over 30ºC) ran past me in great manly strides during my jog, outpacing me without trouble. Each conked out after half a lap. The kangaroo jacket guy was only wearing a t-shirt the next time he attempted the feat. I kept motoring along for a full 8 laps.
Overall, I feel I am in good shape for Week 8’s 28-minute runs if the weather doesn’t turn icky hot again.
This past Wednesday I was in the middle of Week 6 of my jogging plan, a pair of 10-minute runs with a three minute walk between. The 10-minute runs are a little over three complete laps. On the second run I’m motoring along and notice about four girls at the little playground near the northern baseball diamond. Three are younger, perhaps 6 or 7. The fourth is bigger and older, probably around 10 or 11. A cursory glance makes it clear she is the leader.
As I jog by the first time, enjoying the music on my Sansa Clip, I observe the big girl leading the others in some kind of cheer that is directed at me as I go by. I can’t hear the exact words but the tone from her is unmistakably sarcastic because if there’s one thing I know, it’s the sound of sarcasm. I do a mental eyeroll, note how precocious they are and jog past them. They resume their previous activities.
The next lap the same thing happens and again I run past without acknowledging their presence. The third time and when I am on the cusp of completing my jog I go by and sure enough the cheers erupt as I move past. They are, if nothing else, devoted to their shtick. But then I feel something plinking against my back. Many little somethings. They are throwing gravel at me. I come to an immediate stop and pause for just a moment. This is where I wished I had a picture of their faces, for it is at that moment — when I had stopped and altered the course of events but had not yet made clear what was going to happen next — that I wanted to see their expressions abruptly shift from evil glee to uncertainty. I walked a few paces toward them, still being serenaded by whatever song was playing. I looked at the leader, holding her imaginary conch shell and simply said, “Don’t throw rocks at me.” I turned, finished my jog and left the park without looking back.
Now, the gravel at the playground is small so getting showered with it did not hurt at all and I’d previously witnessed a couple of kids playing the “Let’s throw rocks at each other or actually just stand there and I’ll throw rocks at you” game so the whole thing didn’t surprise me as much as it should have but I do still ponder what the goal of the leader was. Did she want to provoke a confrontation and if so, to what end? To prove her authority over the others as their superior? To establish at as early an age as possible that men suck and throwing rocks at them is about as good as it gets? The simplest explanation is that she is a budding sociopath or in the old school language, a mean kid.
Friday’s jog was to be an epic 25-minute journey but with the thermometer reaching 30C and the sun blazing mightily in that way it does, I only managed about 16 minutes or so before my head started to hurt. I had a good pace going and without the weather being so fiendishly warm I’m confident I would have made it otherwise. The small bonus was it was too hot for any kids to be present, psychotic or not. The only others around were a few couples (the guy is always as white as physically possible, glaring like a slab of ice under the steady eye of a relentless Arctic sun) and a few other nutty joggers. Onto Week 7 Monday.
And it’s hot. And smoggy and smokey, too.