Could It Really Be...Summer?!

I'm well aware that summer doesn't "officially" start until June 20th, and I certainly don't want to jinx anything, but all the signs are telling me that the worst is finally behind us.  I haven't worn a jacket outside in a few weeks, I haven't closed my patio door in ages, and nature's predominant color has transformed from dark gray/brown death to bright green, vibrant life.

Honestly, the transformation has been nothing short of remarkable.  Remember early March?

What a difference two months makes...below is the same place, virtually unrecognizable just two months after I took the first picture.  This is nature's version of the absurd, blatantly photo-shopped before-and-after infomercial diet photo.  Above you have the equivalent of the middle-aged, fat, bald, frowning, pot-bellied, pale guy, and below is the twenty-five year-old, tan, six-packed, smiling, muscular, lush-haired Adonis.  But the best part is that this is no photo-shop job--this attractive man is my new reality (that sounds creepy when I say it that way...but you know what I mean):

I played outdoor tennis last Saturday, and instead of battling both numbness in my fingers and lingering concerns about about hypothermia and windburn like the last time I tried that, my only concern this time out was avoiding a sunburn.  This was the first legitimately good weather weekend of the year!  And, best of all, the season's old pattern is officially broken--unlike the pockets of warm weather earlier this spring that were immediately followed by plunges back into the bitter cold, the weekend perfection has carried forward into the work week.  Staying inside the cubicle on Monday was no easy task as I stared at the temperature on my phone:

Then Tuesday night softball arrived, and things continued to look good--much better than last week's cloudy, rainy mess of an opener:

And finally, with the work week winding down, the crown jewel of perfect weather showed up in the forecast. As of this morning, the forecast for Friday and Saturday calls for temperatures in the low 90s!  It'll be time to open the windows, lay on the floor sweating, and bask in the glory of summer weather.

Like I said before, I don't want to jinx it, but I'll risk it anyway and say that the cold, sleet, snow, and frost are gone for good.  Well, at least for a few months.  For the sake of my own sanity, I'm going to block the depressing thought out of my mind that's reminding me that in about a month, the days start to get shorter.  And that other nagging thought telling me that just as quickly as the world bursts to life, it dies a fast and colorful death in a few short months.  For now, I'm putting away the pants, the sweatshirts, the gloves, the stocking caps, and the ice scraper, and I'm focusing on the spectacular heat.  Up yours, winter!

That's More Like It!

Apparently I need to complain about the weather more often.  After yesterday's cold, wet, disgusting mess, today was an absolute delight:

By mid-afternoon, it was a nearly perfect day, with temperatures in the low 70s, no wind, and hardly a cloud in the sky.  I decided it was time to bring out the roller blades for the first time this year.  Sure, roller blading isn't the manliest sport out there--every time I put them on, I remember a quote that a friend had on his Facebook wall for years: "Do you know what the hardest part is about about roller blading?  Telling your parents you're gay."  Regardless, I headed to Lake Calhoun, hoping to enjoy the afternoon and take a stand for straight guys all over Minneapolis who enjoy roller blading.

I wasn't the only one targeting an afternoon at the lake.  Don't let the picture of the briefly-empty path fool you--it was plenty crowded out there today.  Driving through uptown to get to Calhoun wasn't my wisest decision.  While it's theoretically the fastest route from Plymouth, the stoplights and hipster bikers and pedestrians slowed me down terribly.  By the time I finally made it to the lake, found a parking spot, and strapped on the roller blades, clouds had overtaken the sky:

Everything would have looked much better with some sunshine, but the temperature was still perfect, and the rain never showed up.  Once I got started, I just couldn't stop myself, despite the blisters I could feel forming on my feet.  It was hardly a surprise--that just goes with the territory.  I'm convinced that a blister-free roller blade simply does not exist.  Even the most comfortable pairs I've ever owned start to cause problems after a few miles.  Duct tape helps prevent some of the blistering, but it's far from perfect:

It's a sure sign that I enjoy being outside on a nice day, because pulling those strips of duct tape off my legs and feet brings with it a solid half-pound of hair.  I'm thrilled I had the opportunity to share this beautiful photo with the world.  But a few blisters, some patchy spots on the legs, and shins so criss-crossed with duct tape scratches that look they were pulled out of a bear trap are still worth it. 

I tried to enjoy the afternoon and the view as much as possible, because the weather man's words from last night are still ringing in my ears: "...and the possibility of snowfall in the forecast!"  Nothing was going to bring me down today.  I refuse to look at the forecast again until June.

April's Fool and the End of May-arch Madness

What is it with the weather on the last day of the month lately?  February ended with the legendary Leap Day blizzard of 2012, then March, though snow-free, closed with a tremendous letdown. Fifty degrees is right in line with the average high for this time of year, but when the forecast calls for 70° and sunny and the weather ends up 20° cooler, windy, and dreary, it's more than a little disappointing.

I'll admit that March spoiled me--a lot.  Last weekend, I heard that the average high temperatures over the past two weeks were the normal average highs for late May, and the meteorologist  renamed the month "May-arch."  Then, on the news last night, I saw a rundown of all the weather records broken in March.  Most days above 70° (eight), earliest date that Minneapolis reached 80° (March 17th), and the average temperature for the month was just over 48°, breaking the 112-year old record by more than three degrees.

But April Fool's Day snuck up early and made a complete fool out of the meteorologist.  His  forecast missed the mark by 20°--not in the good direction--and he was literally apologizing on the air.  His blunder couldn't have come on a worse day--I'd been looking forward to sun and warmth all week, and my mixed doubles team had planned the first outdoor practice session of the year.  When afternoon arrived and it was a breezy 49°, we decided we'd try again this morning.  So I was stuck indoors watching mediocre women's tennis on TV.  It hardly made me feel better to see that the weather was flawless at the Sony Erickson Open in Miami:

When I woke up this morning, I feared that today's rescheduled outdoor tennis might be a repeat of Saturday afternoon.  The meteorologist's confidence was clearly shattered, and he was very non-committal when delivering today's forecast on the news last night.  Apparently it was either going to be sunny and 70° or cloudy and 50°--it all depended on whether the clouds broke.  I like certainty in my forecasts, and he certainly wasn't offering any.

As I drove toward the courts, my fears were confirmed.  It was cold...and was I really supposed to believe that temperatures were going to skyrocket by thirty degrees?  To borrow a line from George W. Bush, "there's an old saying...that says, fool me once, shame on...shame on you. Fool me...you can't get fooled again."

Today's practice gave me flashbacks of those early-spring tennis matches in high school when we often had to play in gloves and stocking caps.  I can barely type this blog post because my fingers are still so numb--I have that weird feeling going on where I can only open and close my fists in slow motion because of the cold.  Needless to say, the tennis wasn't pretty today--nor particularly fun.

If you Google the word "ugly," you're likely to find pictures of that guy from The Bachelor, along with a video recap of today's match.  I don't think I've ever felt less motivated on a tennis court--all morning, I felt like I was wearing cinder blocks for shoes and hitting the ball uphill into a cold wind with a piece of old aluminum siding.  I've seen people in wheelchairs with better footwork...

Strangely enough, no one else in the area seemed to share my motivation issues--every single court was taken!  After a cool (normal-for-March), cloudy week, I guess it's a clear sign that people want less regular March and a lot more May-arch:

My first outdoor hitting session of the year is behind me--and none too soon.  The last time I hit outside was more than four months ago at USTA Nationals.  If I got anything out of today's debacle, it was firm confirmation that I'll take Tucson in November over Minneapolis in early April.  I couldn't feel much worse about my tennis game at this point.  Returning home and watching more Sony Erickson Open coverage on TV certainly didn't help--witnessing near-perfect tennis in flawless Miami weather is not what I needed at that particular moment.

If today was any sign of my skill level, it looks like I need to spend plenty of hours on the practice court before outdoor tennis season officially kicks off.  April, you better not let me down--yesterday aside, May-arch set the bar extremely high.  I'm willing to forgo the May flowers if it means we can skip the April showers.  I'll take 90° and humid, please.

Great Friday: Comin' Up Sevens

It's not quite St. Patrick's Day, but the luck of the Irish seemed to be with me today. When I woke up this morning, I had no idea what a great day was in store. Expectations were high, this being a Friday and all, but the day just kept getting better.

Lunchtime at the office consisted of free pizza and watching March Madness on the giant conference room projector, an annual tradition in my division at work.  Did I ever mention how much I enjoy free pizza? And this was no slouch--when I walked into the conference room, there was a stack of at least twenty-five Papa John's pizzas, several of which were heavily topped with a variety of delicious dead animals.

As if the day wasn't already going well, as the pizza feast wound down, the VP of finance for the division (my boss's boss's boss) mentioned what a beautiful day it was outside and that, if our schedules allowed it, she wouldn't object to seeing people leave the office a little early today--a roundabout way of saying, "feel free to leave right after lunch."

I headed back to my desk and an email with the subject "Nice day outside..." showed up in my inbox.  The message was from the finance director (my boss's boss), and the email read, "March days like this come around very infrequently.  If you can get out early today while getting done what needs to happen, consider it a free ½ day vacation.  Have a great weekend!"  

I had some meetings late in the afternoon that I couldn't reschedule, so I couldn't take full advantage of the spectacular opportunity. What an unusual twist of fate...if you'd asked me a few weeks ago how a mid-March afternoon would play out, I would have conjured a guess that looked something like this: frigid temperatures, senior leadership telling me I needed to work late, and me trying to sneak out in the middle of the afternoon.  Yet today's arrival brought a serious of shocking opposites: temperatures in the upper 70s, finance leaders urging me to take the afternoon off, and me deciding to stay in the office a few more hours. 

What a delightfully unexpected day.  I didn't leave as early as I could have, but just knowing that I had permission to walk out whenever I felt like it made it much more tolerable to be indoors on a record-breaking, gorgeous day. And what an amazing stretch of March weather it's been.  When most people think about lucky sevens, they picture this:

A gambling windfall is great, but to me, these sevens are worth more than any Vegas jackpot:

Is this really Minnesota in mid-March?  Every single day on the five day forecast has a seven in it!  Yes, next Tuesday's high is technically in the upper sixties, but that's still a darn good temperature, and the second digit is a seven.  At this time of year, I'd be thankful to see those low temperatures as highs...

I was able to leave work a little early and stopped to pick up some groceries on the way home.  The good luck streak continued--in the parking lot, I received visual confirmation that there are, in fact, still cars on the road that are in worse shape than mine--always a welcome reminder, though I'll admit I'm jealous of the convenience that must come with having the option of unlocking the car door by reaching through the side of the vehicle.

The temperature certainly felt like summer, and the skies jumped on the summer bandwagon as well--Minnesota's first thunderheads of the spring made an appearance:

I returned home and threw open the windows and patio door to bask in the warmth.  The view from the patio continues to decrease in depressiveness--the remaining swatches of white evil quickly dwindle away to nothingness in the unseasonable warmth:

Today also marked my first outdoor run in many months.  For some odd reason, this particular run felt very unusual...but in a good way.  As I stretched out afterward, I realized that I'd forgotten what it's like to spend that much time outside without painful chapping and windburn.

I could get used to this...as I finish this post, it's 11PM, the patio door is wide open, and it's still 65°outside.  And I just can't stop smiling...so I'll pretend to be completely ignorant of the fact that I live in Minnesota, and there's at least a 50% chance that a major blizzard will hit sometime in next six weeks before I can start to expect this kind of weather every day.

Heat Wave!

I saw something very unusual yesterday, something I hadn't seen in many, many months. My first thought was that the weather app on my phone was malfunctioning.  I haven't seen a number starting with 5 anywhere near the forecast since it was, well 5° last week. I guess should clarify--I haven't seen a double digit number starting with 5 in the forecast since...I can't even remember.

Knocking on the door of 60°? After 5PM? On March 6th?!  This unexpected warmth was accomanpied by a strange, bright, downright blinding orb that slowly progressed across the sky as the day wore on, eventually disappearing behind the western horizon. It seemed foreign, yet strangely familiar. Then, after nighttime arrived, clouds rolled in and an unusual form of non-icy liquid precipitation proceeded to fall from the sky...

When I left the gym last night, drenched in sweat and wearing my usual shorts and sweatshirt, the temperature was mildly uncomfortable, a pleasant downgrade from the evil, painful kick in the groin that Mother Nature has insisted on handing out every day for the past six months.

Best of all, yesterday marked the death of countless snowmen in the area, the body count piling up as Mother Nature slowly did away with a nice portion of all that annoying Leap Day snow.  When I peered out my window this morning, the view was already 23% less depressing than last week's image:

Sure, as I write this, the temperature is hovering around the freezing point, but things are looking up.  Sixties by early next week, and there are an awful lot of little blinding orbs in that forecast.  But this is Minnesota, after all, so my optimism is tempered with caution. For all I know, this time tomorrow I could be staring down Leap Day Part II.

Leap Day!

This officially marks my first ever February 29th blog post! That shouldn't come as a surprise, I guess, since this blog is less than week old. Sadly, Leap Day has proven to be a huge disappointment. My morning began with an inbox full of ridiculous junk email from all kinds of retailers and restaurants trying to convince me that today offered me the chance at an "extra day of savings," with all kinds of unsuccessful attempts at witty discounts based on the number 29:

Iowa State even jumped on the bandwagon, using Leap Day as an excuse to send me an email asking for a donation.  Why a once-every-four-years calendar anomaly would make me any more likely to give away money or buy stuff I don't need, I have no idea. I'm no fool when it comes to sales...29% off still means 71% on. Buying a large specialty pizza at regular price wipes out the "good deal" part of a 29¢ medium pizza. And donating anything, ever, is just stupid. After a fury of email deleting, the day's prospects didn't exactly improve when I looked outside:

 

I knew it! After one of the mildest winters on record, we couldn't escape February without a *&$#@ snow storm, and it's all Leap Day's fault! (For the record, I consider "mild winter" an oxymoron; it's the weather equivalent to the phrase "a gentle kick to the crotch.") The snowfall totals were lower than the forecast had predicted, but the drive to work was still treacherous, by far the worst of the season. But I risked it all for this blog and snapped a few photos along the way:

 

This whole Leap Day thing got me thinking...if we have to add a day to the year, why does it have to be in February? Everyone is ready to forget February and move on to March--even my wristwatch, which skipped right over February 29th:

And on my way to work, Ted emailed me this photo of an uptown hipster who refused to acknowledge Leap Day and it's ridiculous weather entirely, staring death directly in the eyes and deciding that his Vespa was a perfectly acceptable option for his commute this morning:

Sure, technically speaking, February is most deserving of the extra day from a purely objective and mathematical standpoint, being two days shorter than any of the other months. But June or July could do so much more with an extra day. After seeing what I saw outside my window the morning of February 29th, how could I not prefer to look out my window on July 32nd and see this?

 Be gone February...bring on March!