Goodbye, Cruel Summer; I Think This is Finally Goodbye.

Dear Summer,

I have had it with you. You've overstayed your welcome by about a month (second-hottest September in 125 years of record-keeping!), and I am very happy to see you finally packing your bags and getting out of town.

I do not like you, no I don't. I don't like how you give me one more excuse not to get out the door; like I NEED another one. I don't like the way you suck my throat dry when I'm running (or riding, for that matter). I don't like the way you make my long runs miserable if I'm not done with them by 6 a.m. (I'm going to ignore the fact that I did not, actually, do a single double digits run this summer except for my marathons and the Mt. Lemmon escapades, because I remember how you did me LAST year on my long runs and I didn't like that either.) I don't like how you super-heat the asphalt so that when I'm stopped at a light or just to get a drink I feel like I'm standing over a blast furnace. I hate the way you make me run slow; I hate the way you make Reid Park unbearable in the afternoons so I can't bring myself to go to WOG. I hate how you make it so hot that I can't bring the dogs with me. Monsoons: Pfui on those. Like we really need humidity in addition to the high temperatures. And snakes! I hate how you make it comfortable for snakes to be out and about so that I worry about stepping on the li'l bastards any time I'm on a trail or it's dark and I can't see where I'm putting my feet.

It's not all hate, though. Here's what I like about you: I like that you legitimize my preference to wear next-to-no clothes when running. I like that, because you are such a tough bitch, you make me feel like a total badass compared to athletes in more moderate climates. (Though I still bow down to anyone who trains through the summer in Vegas, Yuma, Phoenix, or any of those places that always seem to be 10 degrees hotter than here.) I like the way I can lose 6 pounds on a 20-mile run. (Yeah, I know that is water weight and therefore is indicative of nothing but dehydration, but still, sometimes you just need to see the numbers on the scale in order to justify a reward of donuts, DQ Blizzards, and/or frozen pie crust.)

At the end of the day, though, I really can't complain too much about you. The joy of that first fall marathon in some cooler place when you've trained throughout the inferno is unbeatable. And for anyone who complains too much about the summer heat, I have just one word: February. Thanks.