Write about a time when you were too hot or too cold.
It is a rare occasion that I am too cold. I’ve always been “cold-blooded.” Born with the desert in my blood, I guess. Warm sun, hot showers, cozy socks and slippers, a burning hot fire, fleece blankets—these all put me in my happy place.
The feeling I get when I am cold is the exact opposite: discomfort, even irritability. It’s hard for me to focus, difficult to concentrate. I get short and snappy with my words, anxious to change the situation so I can get to a warmer place.
I do not like being cold. I think of the many ultra races Sean has been participating in and the ridiculous hour they begin—6 or 7 in the morning, so that we have to be up at 4 or 5 a.m. to get ready and to the start line on time.
It’s always freezing in the morning, cold and dark to match my mood. I put on layers of clothing, at least two covering every party of my body, and gloves and a beanie, too. Thick socks and tennis shoes. Finally, I wrap myself in a blanket, and still I am cold.
The race starts and it’s usually still dark. I see Sean bound off in his shorts and thin running shirt, and I’m grateful that I can now scurry back to the warm car. Part of me feels like a real wimp for being the spectator shivering in the crowd rather than one of the runners off for an adventure.
But I can’t help it. My mood improves with the degree of sunshine on my skin. As the day wakes up, I begin to wake up, too, and shake off my grumpy, irritable state of mind. I peel off layers of clothing, getting back to myself, and settle in for the day with a good book.
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