I'm missing Maine a wee bit less today because a kind friend and neighbor of ours has invited us to use her building's heated pool as often as we like, whenever she's available to let us in.
It's a small in-ground pool between Commonwealth Avenue and the Mass. Pike. Pike traffic makes swimming there a rather deafening experience. But we wouldn't care if the pool were in the middle of the Mass Pike when it's as hot as it was last night. In weather like this, I often feel feverish for hours.
I don't know why I feel such extremes; it's no fun. In the winter, I get "cold flashes." I become cold to the touch, even when I'm under a heavy down comforter with layers of cashmere, flannel sheets, two coverlets, and a hot water bottle. It's miserable and I often can't sleep from feeling cold — even though anyone else would be roasting under all that fabric and down. In the summer, it's the opposite. I can't stand wearing much of anything, or being outside, especially in the sun. I often feel so feverish that I might as well be sick. I'm constantly jumping in the shower, although it's not much help. I should mention that I've yet to have a hot flash. If I ever get them, they'd better be in the winter, when I can use them. If I ever have one in the summer, I'll probably spontaneously combust, ending my suffering permanently and making an interesting news story to boot.
Anyway, a long dip in a pool is the best thing to cool my body down and clear my head.
Last night, the three of us were the only ones in the pool area, but we still had to have a shouted conversation over the roar of the cars. My husband and I chilled out in the water, which is a blissful temperature, while our friend, who is around 90 (we are lucky to have several old, old friends) lounged sideways on a chaise near us, at the water's edge, as if she were Cleopatra on the barge.
If I get enough writing done today, we can have another swim tonight. So I'd better get to it. But before I do, I must confess that my 10,000-step daily walking program has gone all to hell in the past week or so, thanks to the weather. When it's this hot, I can't stand to stand, let alone walk, and my husband doesn't like me roaming the streets when it finally cools down, after midnight, or so, and he's right. I have about 25,000 steps to make up at the moment, including the 10,000 I'm supposed to get (but probably won't) today. But I will be able to make up for all this missed walking next week, when the first part of my writing project is over — especially if the weather cools down, or I decide to wear out the floor tile at Copley Place. And I can always do my old read-and-jog-in-place routine in front of the air conditioner, although that's gotten very boring.
In other news, Possum really needs a bath. Surely that experience will be the exercise equivalent of many thousands of steps for both of us.