I would guess that some of you are wondering what kind of high I’m talking about. So let me assure you right now that this high is NOT from smoking anything. In fact, in the “goody-goody” world I have inhabited for over 58 years that is one experience I have never had. Some tell me that is my loss; others tell me I should be proud of that. The fact is that it was never an issue – it was never something that interested me much.
It’s probably a good thing I never smoked weed or anything else. Otherwise I might be having an even more difficult time today.
I guess I’m probably feeling high because I’ve let myself get so unconditioned aerobically in the past year. It’s been one thing after another – or perhaps I should be honest and say one excuse after another – that has kept me off the treadmill all this time.
We got back to the Denver area after a week in South Dakota just last night. I know from previous experience that it takes my body several days to adjust to high altitudes so it doesn’t totally surprise me that I am feeling it. But the degree does surprise me.
Yesterday afternoon, when we arrived at our hotel, I had to lie down for a while after walking in from the car.
Today ws returned the rental car at the airport. We took the luggage out and I rolled the 2 small bags to the shuttle bus. By the time we reached the bus stop (a VERY short walk) I was so short of breath, I probably sounded like a dog after a long run in 90 degree heat.
By the time the bus reached the terminal, I thought I was okay. It was a delusion! I got off the bus and walked the 20 steps to curbside check-in. I was winded again! By the time I walked through the labyrinth of taped lanes to reach the TSA agent who was checking boarding passes and ID’s, my chest was aching and I was light-headed.
I must have looked a bit off because he asked if I was okay. I told him briefly about my challenge with altitude. He asked if I needed a wheelchair.
Dilemma! Do I admit my shortcoming and swallow my rather miniscule pride? Do I allow someone to push me through the airport to the gate? Or do I tough it out and drag through the airport, gasping with every step and worrying my husband?
I have dealt with fibromyalgia for 45 years. I have learned when to push myself and when to wave the white flag. I surrendered and here I sit at my gate. My attentive husband got me something to eat and I’ve been writing this on my phone – a serious challenge itself.
I love the mountains! We are returning to Yellowstone National Park in September.
I guess that means I’m getting on the treadmill Monday!