Summer is Here - And It's Too Late for Excuses
One of my greatest fears is breathing down my neck.
Summer.
In my opinion, the warm, sunny months are the cruelest season of the year.
It’s bad enough I have to endure hot flashes, bitchy moods, and nightly sweats - tossing and turning in bed like a hot dog on a spit instead of getting the restful sleep my mind and body so desperately crave.
Now I have to contend with the weather – rising temperatures and humidity levels that give those same middle-age-crazy symptoms free reign over my exhausted brain and endocrine system every unreasonably-long day.
Why am I so upset about a season most people wait all year to enjoy?
After all, there are lots of folks who look forward to warm, leisurely days filled with much-needed vacations, neighborhood pool parties, and every-other-night BBQs, not to mention a sprinkling of holiday weekends to kick back and do absolutely nothing.
Here’s my gripe: During the summer months, I lose the leverage of blaming my flushed complexion and sweaty armpits on menopausal symptoms. Because the insistent, merciless heat - now cranked up a few notches - offers no reprieve. And I constantly look and feel like I’ve just run a marathon, without the benefit of training.
But that’s not the worst of it.
Unfortunately, Summer means a greater amount of skin reveal and sleeveless tops. And frankly, the thought of baring my flabby, sun-spot speckled arms – complete with 6” wing-span - in public triggers my stress level to Defcon 2.
For the record, I’m blaming gravity and nature for my mental and physical discomfort.
And if I’m really pressed to explain my errant attitude, I might be forced to reluctantly admit there’s something I could have done about it – before now. But only if you set up a large oscillating fan set to high speed.
Sure, I could have exercised more and worked my arm muscles. I could have done daily reps with the hand weights in the corner of my bedroom, now hidden under a pile of discarded clothing from last month’s closet vetting.
I might have gone outside and stood in front of my house, flailing my arms in circular motions for half an hour a day, as if waving imaginary Uber drivers to the curb.
There’s any number of activities and movements that could have been employed to strengthen and tone my muscles and tighten my upper arm skin.
But I’ll never know how that would have turned out, because it’s much too late.
Summer is here, and I’m totally screwed.
Every year, I attempt to convince myself that I didn’t see it coming or I didn’t have enough time to prepare. But they’re weak excuses. Because I can’t avoid the fact that I’ve lived through enough rotations of the sun to recognize the inevitability of summer - and the arrival of its hot, sticky breath down my back.
And that’s one sinking feeling I can’t pass off as a result of my relentless hormonal imbalance. When things start to heat up, and summer slides its scalding hot tongue across my neck and shoulders, panic sets in.
Because until that frightening moment occurs, I’ve felt fairly safe in keeping my arms and body completely concealed under a sweat-disguising polyester top with long, roomy sleeves.
In health & happiness,
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Jill Reid is the author of Real Life, Discover Your Personal Truth, Life in Small Doses, and Please God, Make Me A Writer. Her books, videos, and newsletter explore life, relationships, self-improvement, health, and personal success strategies for working through the challenges of everyday life.
