Somewhere among deadlines, building a deck and the rally driving adventure race that defines the Outdoor Extremes beat, the reality settled in recently that I am a very sick man.
A brief self-examination revealed the symptoms of a common mountain malady that all too often goes undiagnosed until it’s too late. I’m referring, of course, to the psychologically traumatizing affliction known as ADD, or August Deficit Disorder.
Little is known about this peculiar disorder beyond its propensity to strike school-aged kids, those of similarly arrested adolescence and folks living somewhere around the 8,000-foot elevation mark. Falling into two of those categories, mine is a particularly severe strain — lifestyle, if not entirely life-threatening.
While the majority of lowland America deals with the summer swelter typically associated with August, mountain folks like myself have their own definition of the dog days of summer. Turns out they actually occur overnight, and they officially kicked in Saturday, when the dog’s water dish froze over for the first time since summer solstice. The associated queasiness upon that sad discovery can be either debilitating or motivating, depending upon your situation.
Through some internal research I’ve come to learn that said “dog days” are so named because of the way dog years are measured in the mountains. While cats enjoy the luxury of nine full lives, dogs are saddled with the burden of only one, shortened by multiples of seven. By my math, that equates to roughly .14 months of August annually — well below the legal limit.
Those 31 decimal pointed days can fly by in the blink of an eye, and they do, unless drastic action is taken to remedy the situation.
The process begins with a self- exam.
While staring down a few extraneous lumps in the mirror recently, I stumbled onto the recognition that Aug. 22 marks the halfway point of another year in my life, which seems better suited as a milestone than my actual birthday or a calendar year. With six months to go, I figure there’s still time to take stock of my goals and accomplish anything left on the table before February. Either that or plan a vacation.
Likewise, the reality that we’re nearly halfway through the last real month of summer hit home hard and fast. And, like a lot of folks who suffered through the rainiest half-summer in recent memory, I’m feeling way behind.
Therein lies my affliction.
But like dogs, there are so many different breeds of people out there that it’s impossible to prescribe a universal remedy for ADD. For some, it’s a raft trip before the rivers run too shallow. For others, it’s fly-fishing while the water is prime. There are mountains to be climbed, bikes to ride, trails to hike, waves to surf, waters to swim, tricks to master, maybe even a luau or two to attend.
The mutt that I am, I’m craving the Heinz 57 special of all the above and then some. Sometime before Labor Day, I might even put the power tools away and look for an excuse to sit down on that new deck.
I have an addiction, a disease. And short of adding an extra month to the calendar, I’m not sure that it can ever be cured. As sweet as it is, mountain summer is simply deficient.
Now, about that vacation . . .
