Lunch. The test of human endurance.

The center of the heat dome passed over NYC on July 22, 2011, engulfing it in a 104° prison of steamy heat. By 2:30 pm, the heat index in Time Square was 142°. On this, the hottest July 22nd ever recorded in the last 115 years - I ventured out to lunch.

The day before was bad. The mercury topped off at 101°, with a heat index of 124°. During my 3 block excursion to pick up my food, I was told to hydrate by a stranger carrying a bottle of water, which he shook for emphasis. I made it through the half hour lunch break on grit and the luck in finding a shaded area on the FIT campus.

Today promised to be an even bigger challenge, and as I entered the last air conditioned environment I would have access to for nearly 30 minutes, the sinking knowledge that I was putting my life in jeopardy slowed my gait. I bought a light lunch, knowing that excessive digestion could cause a spike in body temperature. After quickly checking in on some senior citizens, I parted the curtain of scathing murk, and all but swam to my perch from the previous afternoon.

Gone was the chatter of people and birds of temperate summer. The gnawing buzz of a suffering insect provided the only sound of life. A few scattered survivors littered the courtyard, peeking out from shady hovels, appearing too weak to scan their surroundings.

My lunch was a small roast beef sandwich with a delicate portion of smashed potatoes on the side. I started with the sandwich as it was cooler than the surrounding atmosphere and coolent to my system was a welcome. Although chewing through the tougher areas of bread was fatiguing, I managed to eat the sandwich in around 13 minutes.

The smashed potatoes sat in their cardboard canister. Within this sweltering sauna the hot sauce and pieces of tactile potato skin created an obstacle course of consumptive agony. It was the final mountain, and my last chance to back out. At this point The heat index had climbed to 157°

I was soaked in sweat, as I took the first, tentative bite. The plastic fork glistened in the oppressive moistness as I slowly began the self induced nightmare. It became steady stumbling race towards an inescapable, staggering end. My body temperature rose with my every movement. Lifting a fork, lowering my head and chewing at the same time was the perfect storm of attrition.

As the 21 minute mark passed, I had consumed nearly half the potatoes, but I was becoming increasingly weak, confused and clumsy from overexertion.

cont.