Less than halfway through the mile-long track that runs the periphery of L.A. State Historic Park, I realize that today’s outfit is entirely inappropriate for the weather. I pulled over a KXLU hoodie that I’ve probably had since I was a DJ at the college radio station because there was a chance of more rain in the morning, but that chance looked slim-to-none by 10:30 a.m., so I wasn’t about to walk around with an umbrella. A hoodie was a good just-in-case alternative, I thought before leaving the apartment, failing to remember that it’s August, not January, and it’s muggy af outside. 

I’m sweating more than I should be for something even less intense than a power walk, a lot more. I’m actually disgusted with myself and my inability to acclimate to a summer where the heat has been far from dry. I don’t know how to dress, let alone deal with moderately curly hair that’s prone to frizz, in this weather. It’s a culture shock— like that time I spent a Labor Day Weekend in Atlanta baffled by warm rain and people calling every woman “ma’am”— except that I’m at home.