Summer Fling

Summer is the season of love. There’s something about summer that makes you feel like you’re in love, even if you’re not. Its short-lived presence, fleeting nature, and yet the warmth it radiates, are all characteristics similar to those of love. The temporary nature of summer lends itself perfectly to an experience of love that lasts just as long as summer...the summer fling.  In every girls life there’s a boy she’ll never forget and a summer where it all began.


For me that was the summer of 1978--my first summer of real freedom. This was the summer I broke all the rules, did my best to stand apart, completely and totally ignored my head, and chased my heart. Back then, my friends and I had interesting ideas about summer -- drink triple, see double, and act single. It was the summer that Grease howled its way into the world of movies and spawned a generation lusting after the perfect romance. It was the perfect summer, much like the ultimate one-night stand: hot as hell, totally thrilling, and gone before you know it.


Since then I have had many summer flings, the objects of my desire running the gamut from ordinary to gleefully inane. I’ve had love affairs with radio tunes, flowers, drink concoctions and various articles of clothing. Who doesn't remember that strappy little number bearing just the right amount of cleavage and leg?

1979 Triumph Spitfire

Many years have been defined by the fling of the summer. Take the summer of 1979 for example. I was the brand new owner of a Triumph Spitfire sports car--a chocolate brown convertible. It was the ultimate summer car and I felt like Donna Summer’s “Hot Stuff” when I was at the wheel. I zipped around the streets of Vancouver and cruised through Ambleside Park so many times I became an established fixture there. It didn't matter that buying it blew my dad's mind, or that I didn’t really know how to drive a standard, or that I got three speeding tickets in Stanley Park alone within the first two weeks of owning it, or that it broke down twice in rush-hour traffic on the Knight Street Bridge, I was in love and being in love is a powerful thing.

                                                      
 I remember the first summer we holidayed in our Airstream down in the States and we discovered a new beer we could conveniently buy at just about any local Safeway. Tequiza was my summer fling that year, a fruit-flavored pale lager combining the taste of agave, lime and tequila. It was brewed by Anheuser-Busch and I was hooked after the first refreshing sip on a hot and humid day in July. The affair was brief, lasting just a few short weeks, as was the product life of Tequiza; Anheuser-Busch pulled the plug on it in 2009.

Mark and the Airstream, circa 2008.

And what about the year I fell in love with the all new“Barefoot Pace Glove” natural adventure shoes made by Merrell. They were described by Shape Magazine "as the best trail running shoe" and according to the Merrell ad: “Designed specifically for women. All the protection your feet need from rocks and roots, an ultra-lightweight upper with a synthetic leather foot sling for stability, fits like a glove”. Merrell reeled me in. Those little gems were discovered quite by chance just two days before setting off on our Airstream summer road trip. After a little Google research, I purchased a pair.


I bought a pair in “Lavender Lustre” and wore them home. They made me a promise to help build strength, increase stimulation, and improve alignment. I wore them around the house for the rest of the day while packing up the Airstream; I wore them when we set off on our trip the next morning; I wore them while hiking and walking; and of course I wore them while running. Sadly Mark drew the line when I tried to wear them to bed, but after just a few days I was head-over-heels with my pace-gloves.

Occasionally summer romances bloom into what feels like the greatest love of your life, but more often than not they are what they are, short and sweet. And so it was with the pace-gloves. A few days before the labor-day long weekend, and at the risk of sounding like an old cliche, I came to the sad realization that my summer love affair with the pace-gloves would be just that--a one-season-stand.

Of course I was the one that suffered from that break-up. Left with the pain of a tight calf and Achilles-tendinitis, I realized I may have rushed things a little bit. Or maybe the pace-gloves simply did not feel the same about me as I did them. No matter, fall arrived and I went back to my old faithful New Balance runners and forgot all about the pain of that summer romance.


"My heart is frozen in this place.
Waiting for another summer’s day;
To bring you back my way".  - India Arie, Summer