We just got back from a couple of weeks in Maine (if you follow my social media accounts, you’ve probably heard all about it.) My husband and I went to Acadia National Park for the first time more than a dozen years ago, before we were married, and we’ve always wanted to go back and explore it more thoroughly. First, though, we had to wait until our child was old enough to (hopefully) not bounce right off the cliffs.
So we finally headed back to Mount Desert Island, staying on the island at a glamping resort for a few nights, then moving to a house on the water in Brooklin, ME, for over a week. It had one of my favorite running trails ever–it’s called the Harriman’s Point Trail, and it loops through the woods and wildflower meadow, finishing up on a rocky point jutting into a quiet cove.
I should add here that one of my favorite things is to go for a long sweaty run and then jump into a body of water. It’s likely I developed this fondness BECAUSE I LIVE NEAR THE GULF OF MEXICO AND NOT IN MAINE. Every day in Maine I ran, I barely sweated at all, and I contemplated the water that made me hiss when I waded in knee deep. Then finally–blessedly–a heat wave swept through over our last couple of days. (Blessedly in terms of water temperature–otherwise it was miserable.) One day the temperature was higher in Maine than in Birmingham.
This, I thought, is my moment.
Unfortunately, my moment happened at low tide. So I waded in, waist-deep, psyched myself up–because it was still FRIGGIN’ COLD–and dunked myself under. Two seconds of terrible, then a rush of euphoria. That’s all. That’s my story. I did it. It was worth it…and later this summer when I’m sweating my brains out and then diving off a pier into Mobile Bay, I will have a newfound appreciation for heat.