Late last night, I was walking home and shivering like crazy. The key word here is crazy; it wasn’t that cold out, and no one else seemed to be chilly. Yet I, already wearing a warm winter coat, had to put on a scarf and pull on my hood. I felt a chill deep inside that wouldn’t leave, and it was frightening because it didn’t make any sense.
Granted, a few hours earlier I had finally made a decision I had been agonizing over for months, but it wasn’t anything that should have caused uncontrollable shaking in a normal person. I kept walking, trying to distance myself from the desperation lodged in my chest and the chill stuck in my stomach, but I couldn’t get far enough because the East River was in the way. So when I reached the empty park along the water, I started running. Hood up, scarf on, purse on shoulder, running. Trying to escape the overpowering sense of discomfort inside. Smelling the February air with the refreshing remnants of the night’s rain lingering.
And it worked. After my night run, I felt calmer. I felt warmer. I felt some of the crazy subside for a moment.
Then I walked back to my apartment and immediately upon entering felt suffocated by the heat.
The trouble is, whatever it is that regulates temperature in the body doesn’t work right in me, so whenever I get slightly above or below the norm, I’m unable to properly adjust to it. The trouble is, whatever it is that regulates emotions in the mind doesn’t work right for me, so whenever I get slightly above or below the norm, I’m unable to properly adjust to it.
It turns out that running in the park in the dark helps both. But only temporarily.