Monthly Archives: June 2015

Forecast for Salt Lake City.

heatdeathI moved back to Utah from Arizona because I thought that we were done with this stuff.

Average June highs for SLC are supposed to be in the 80s, but it’s been like this for a while. Ethel is loving it. Now, it’s not shadenfraude, because she’s not reveling in others’ misery, but it’s related to shadenfraude, because she is reveling in the conditions that are causing others misery.

I’m ready to try one of those long-distance marriages where you call each other every evening and share about your day – she can be in a blast furnace, enjoying watching her skin peel off, and I’ll be in northern British Columbia. Somewhere around Liard Hot Springs, where the springs are the only thing that is hot.

But I’d probably miss her.

It’s bad enough driving down into this awfulness every day, but we’re actually moving down here. Again, I thought that highs would be in the 80s. They obviously aren’t. It does no good to say “well, it used to be like that”. I used to have hair. I used to be thin and fast. My hair and thinness and fastness are not going to get any better, and I see no reason to believe that the forecast will, either.

At my first trip to SLC, in 1995, I was talking with Doug, a fellow Alabamian, who said “The winters are awful, but the summers are glorious”. Doug was not a skier, so to him “snow on the ground” equals “awful”. To me, “snow on the ground” equals “bliss”. But he was correct – the summers were glorious. For a fellow who had lived in Alabama, Texas and Arizona, June highs of 88 with no humidity felt like paradise.

This winter there was no snow, and now – well, there’s this.

Full disclosure – in Phoenix, you don’t see the yellow sun/red sky forecast picture unless the forecast temp is 110 F or above. So, in that respect, this isn’t as “bad” as Phoenix. But, then, having your wrists cut open with a steak knife isn’t as “bad” as having your intestines ripped out with a rusty hook, but that doesn’t make it any more pleasant.

I’m pretty tired, and worn out from training and everything that the move has been requiring. So maybe I’m overreacting.

But I really thought that we were done with this.

I’ve ween wearing this wrist band now since the 30th of April. I’m gonna wear it until it falls of on its own.


They put the band one when you do your packet pickup at WTC races; there are millions of dollars in bikes in the transition area, so they don’t want any non-athletes wandering around. Plus, the wristband identifies you everywhere else that you have to go – and at an Ironman even, there are a lot of places that you have to go.

They put one of these on my last year, when I did the St. George Squealfest, and I got it off of my arm as soon as I could upon leaving town; it left a circle of burned skin on my arm, charred with the shame of my experience. They put one on when I did the Tahoe Smokeout (also known as the IronLung) and I got around to cutting it off fairly quickly, although that was one of the major anticlimaxes of my life.

But this is different; St George this year was a disaster, but it was my disaster. Even though it hurt, and was stupid, I did, indeed, finish it. And I have no desire to cut the band off.

I’ve had the odd notion about keeping this band on until I replace it with one that doesn’t say “70.3”, but I doubt that it could possibly last that long. I won’t even discuss doing one of those things (in my circle, we call it the “Mumble Mumble”, because as soon as you actually say the real worlds, you start thinking about it, and I ain’t thinking about it yet) until I have done a 70.3 right, and that won’t happen until at least August 22nd, at VikingMan in Burley.

Maybe if I could find some way to reinforce this band with some sort of metallic backing, I could get it to last long enough to replace it with the real thing. But, hey, that would just be weird.

So I’ll let it fall away in its own good time.

However, I suspect that when that does happen, it will somehow find its way into one of the drawers in my desk.