Temps, not calendar, signify summertime

I’m not quite sure who came up with the notion that the first official day of summer is June 21, but clearly they didn’t live in Lakewood Ranch.

I’m pretty sure summer began somewhere back around mid-March.

I know this because for the past three months, I’ve spent my afternoons out on the track, the tennis courts and the baseball and softball fields in the blazing sun.

And no matter what season it is on the calendar, when its 90 degrees and sunny, every day is summer in my mind.

Growing up in Ohio, I lived for these days. But now, I find myself searching for even the slightest bit of reprieve.

After all, when you’re driving to practice and the temperature gauge in your car reads a balmy 94 degrees, you can’t help but begin to sweat at the thought of standing out in the blistering sun for the next couple of hours.

It’s the time of year when I find myself having to change clothes multiple times a day between assignments. Who really wants to mingle with a sports reporter after they’ve spent all day out in the sun covered in sunscreen, sweat and dirt?

I don’t know how the kids do it. They give it there all no matter how high the temperature climbs — even when it looks like they just jumped in the pool.

But as bad as I feel for the kids, I feel even worse for the sports writers standing there roasting in the sun. At this point, it doesn’t matter if I you’re covering an event at 9 a.m. or 9 p.m. — it’s still unbelievably hot.
And there’s nothing you can do but look up at the sky in search of even the smallest rain cloud — anything that will give you some reprieve.

Luckily, I love what I do. So I’ve gotten used to covering sports in the summer — even if it does mean having to carry several water bottles with you wherever you go.

But that doesn’t mean I’m not secretly counting down the days until November when the somewhat cooler air finally returns.