Manchild stopped me from going up these stairs earlier in the week. Might have gone all lineman on me:)It was 104°, not too hot. I was dressed appropriately in a heat-wicking tank top, and my hair was twisted up. The Buckeye had pulled in seconds before me, so I hastily repacked my day pack-three bottles of water, inhaler. My gaze fell on the newly purchased Camelback bladder I had bought but not yet washed and readied for use; I sighed, wishing I could be a bit better with this "preparedness" thing. Grabbing my poles and smiling broadly, I greeted the man I had seen less than 24 hours before. I had made him dinner, and after we had sat idly in the orchard, sharing a cold Ionic spiced honey cocktail. Tonight we were doing the "easy" hike of Dreamy Draw, a three mile loop with three intense climbs interspersing the route. While I had no issue keeping up with him inbetween the climbs, I also had no issue with him outpacing me while I took my time going up the steep washes. I'd had no problems with this hike a week ago, after having to bail on Piestewa the day prior to it. While it was hotter today, I was hydrated, had had a good lunch several hours earlier and even had on my hiking boots for a change.
Because, snakes. We saw this guy the prior week.I took a hit off the inhaler when I had left the cottage, so technically I was prepared. Slinging the pack on my shoulders, we headed for the trailhead. Before we hit the main trail, my chest felt funny, and I mentioned it to him. I suspected maybe I'd need the inhaler sooner than later, but I wasn't too concerned.
So we start our hike, and I note I'm not feeling good. Like someone is sitting on my chest. With asthma, I typically find that it's my throat feeling tight is my first symptom-so this was different. Although it was hot, and I was already drinking fluid, it just felt...odd.
As we hiked, we chatted: My sister was surprising our mother with a visit, and we had solidified our plans that morning. The Buckeye had been generous in understanding the impromptu trip, and we went over the weekend as we hiked. I've always used my ability to keep up my end of a conversation as a marker: if I can talk I'm doing fine.
But I wasn't.
At the base of the first climb I stopped, drank some water and took a short rest. I knew something wasn't right-but it still had not clicked that it was asthma. I felt a wee nauseous and this pressure on my chest was weird...but I knew my legs were strong. I also knew I'd have to call it at the top if I felt any worse; so I deliberately quieted my pace. I went slow like a granny, and shockingly felt every ounce of strength pour out of me like a sieve.
My face said it all when I made it to the top; the Buckeye didn't give me the opportunity to decide. "I think you should go back-you need to call it right here." I nodded in agreement, sitting down and fishing desperately for my rescue inhaler. I willed myself not to panic as my carabiner got caught and I couldn't move through the pack contents quickly enough. While the inhaler helped, I've never felt quite so miserable. I was grateful for not having the option to continue, and grateful to know I'd be going downhill from here. Or so I thought.
I had no qualms when we decided to separate-it was only my asthma kicking in, and I was confident a return trip would be no issue. I half-joked that this is when I usually threw rocks and had a temper tantrum; I was so disappointed by my body's inability to exercise. The Buckeye smiled, and promised me I could throw all the rocks I wanted once we had parted ways-just not in his direction. We shared a lingering kiss, and he headed up the trail, while I immediately started down the steep wash I had just come up.
And was almost immediately in trouble.
It was very steep-and the loose shale did me no favors. I was thankful for my poles and my boots, but it was tediously exhausting. I could feel my heart racing, and that concerned me. I was heading down, what was going on? Midway, I sat to collect myself in a spot of shade. Yes it was hot...but I was well hydrated. I was a full bottle in, and partly through my second. I debated calling the Buckeye to come back, but decided I was fine to go on.
Mistake #1. When you think you need help, you need help. Go with that thought!!
By the time I reached the base, not a 100 yards from where we had separated, a significant amount of time had passed and I was miserable. I was slightly nauseous, really hot, and the pressure in my chest intense. I slowly walked to the next spot of shade, and regrouped.
This is "shade."Opening my pack, I cursed the fact my hat was in the car. In my hasty departure from it, I had left it.
Mistake #2. No hat.
It was pretty grim....and looking on this now I can see my face is red.
It's so stinking hot - and I'm feeling it for the first time. I dig out an electrolyte supplement and add it to my remaining second bottle. I drank it down, and waited five minutes, looking out for snakes. While my boots were far too hot and heavy compared to my beloved Minimus, they did afford more protection. From snakes, of course. That bare calf? Nah...they'd miss that, right? It was at this point I wondered if it might be the heat. I knew my asthma had been triggered, hard. I decided to take another hit off the inhaler, and moved the inhaler to my front pocket, as well as my phone to pack straps in front for easy access should I get in trouble. I realized I had taken a higher route back (I'd never traversed this trail in reverse) and decided to drop down to what I thought was the right trail. Slowly I got up, realizing belatedly I was now weak.
That scared me. Mistake #3-heading out on my own. I vowed then I would never, ever, split up with a hiking partner ever again.
Once on the lower trail, I realized, again, I was not on the trail we had come in on. Dreamy Draw runs right by Highway 51, so I wasn't lost, just flipping out of my way and feeling horrid. I'd be passed by an occasional biker, so I wasn't necessarily alone. Getting my bearings, I spied out the main trail. I decided to traverse to it-more shadey spots, and if I passed out, I'd definitely be found. I turned on my playlist, and skipped every slow song in favor of GnR.
This winter and spring I had run this very trail; a few weeks ago I had flung rocks from it. Now I focused on the task of putting one foot in front of the other and walking, slowly, out of it. I splashed some water on my hand and smeared it on my face, the wind cooled it instantly and that two second reprieve felt good. I was down to a half a bottle of water, and for the first time in ages I worried about running out. This bottle had also been in my pack from a prior hike...having sat in my bag in the car...it was hot.
Like I could have made tea with it hot.
While I've never minded it before, I noted it wasn't as effective as cooler water...and I longed for the empty Camelback in my car. Why hadn't I been better prepared?
I took one last break, knowing I needed to get out of the situation. This time I rested standing up in the shade of a tree, worried that if I sat down I'd not be able to get up. Determined, I kept a slow steady pace, and was mightily relieved to see the Buckeye heading towards me on the side trail we had initially taken. He saw me and made his way quickly over to me; I noted with small pleasure he looked relieved, too.
It's been a long time since someone cared.
The first words out of my mouth? "We are never separating like that again!"
Just having him there took off half of my burden; when we got to the pavilion I paused, soaking in the shade. At our cars I threw in my poles and grabbed another hot bottle of water; I tried to hide my concern about my ability to drive by distracting him with a kiss.
"You're shaking," he said, and I knew my ruse was up. I felt terrible. "I don't think I can drive," I admitted, and we decided to sit in his car with the air on. Peeling off my boots, we chatted about my hike, and how I had gotten immediately turned around on the trail. While I had made some good decisions-resting, electrolytes, getting on the main trail-we both knew I had narrowly avoided a mishap. Ten minutes into our chat I suddenly broke out in a sweat-it was then I realized I hadn't sweated the entire hike. My body had put a priority on breathing, and I was suffering from heat exhaustion.
I was humbled to the core.
I've hiked in Arizona for six years, and prided myself in knowing the desert. But I'd never hiked in intense heat with full blown asthma, which had been getting worse since my move to the valley. That not being factored in, I had fallen prey, despite being hydrated.
Sometimes water isn't enough.
The Buckeye chuckled as my spirits recovered, and he assured me he wouldn't kick me to the curb over my crazy lungs. My heart skipped a beat again, for the twentieth time that day. I already adored this man, and every moment we'd spent together in the past few days had left me wanting more time with him. If falling in love can be compared to skydiving, I was in free fall. My here and now was to be savored, even as I was drenched in sweat and not quite recovered from heat exhaustion, brought on by asthma in a 104° hike.
As compared to heat exhaustion, which does not!Returning home, I hit the easy button and got some Chick-fil-a and indulged in a frosted lemonade (ice cream mixed with lemonade, truly one of the world's most delicious concoctions!) In hindsight, a plain iced tea might have been a better option...as soon after eating my food and "beverage" I became chilled in my 79° living room. Like bone-chillingly cold. My face was flushed, and I suspected I had a temp...but in the apartment I didn't have a thermometer. Taking a shower helped, and I ate cold watermelon and downed some green tea. As my temperature regulated, I read up on asthma and heat...and discovered summer asthma (temperatures over 100° are a huge trigger) as well as ozone triggers (it had been a red flag ozone day in Phoenix.). I read about the correlation between asthma and heat exhaustion, and how my body prioritized breathing over cooling, thus triggering heat exhaustion even though I was hydrated (I didn't sweat at all, as that energy was conserved for the lungs.) As I shared this with the Buckeye, he made the call I knew was right-I wasn't hiking with him in the heat this summer. As much as we enjoyed it-my asthma was not under control, and today had been a tough lesson. I groaned, knowing he was right...but feeling keenly the extra weight I was desperate to shift. I hazarded to bring it up, fully expecting to be told to watch what I ate or finding a gym.
Instead, he assuaged my fears...assuring me that this was temporary. That there were other options, including the early morning for hiking, and that we'd still find time together during the week. We chatted for some time, and my mind harkened back to that jump just a few weeks ago.
Free falling. The intense overload of immediate sensations, followed by a controlled plummet. Reaching terminal velocity, stabilized and in my case, completely trusting that my instructor would pull the cord when the time was right. All I had to do after finding the right position was enjoy the ride...and smile for my cameraman. I had no fear of the approaching horizon, not a doubt in my mind that the canopy wouldn't open. Once again, that's how I feel; just now it's whenever his name pops up on a text, I see his smiling face across from me, or when I hear his voice. Is it a delicious irony that he used to be a tandem instructor in skydiving? I think not:)
At the tail end of my free fall, I remember I had to focus on breathing: whether it was asthma, my harness or the experience I have no clue, but it was suddenly more difficult. Once the chute opened everything was fine; I could easily breath again and grasping the toggles I flew. The landing came too soon, and as many have requested before me, I wanted immediately to go again. Time went too quickly, I didn't want it to end; yet a few weeks later time seemed to stop as I struggled to get back to safety when a hike went wrong. In both cases, fear could have played a major role: in both cases I refused it entry. The end result was good...and another lesson is learned.
Fear genuinely has no place-other than as a warning that things are amiss. That warning heeded, the next steps need to be of wisdom; a successful outcome happens when small steps are taken in order to achieve a greater result. My bad hike wasn't fun-I admit I'm loath to get back out there-but it wasn't a trauma because I heeded the warning signs. Likewise, I'm fully aware I'm falling in love.
Well, not the shy part😜When I first divorced and began this new journey, I feared being alone. As time progressed and I learned to exercise by myself (trail running, in particular) I came to see the benefits of being alone: failures weren't recorded to be later tossed up in your face, I "won" every decision, I felt stronger knowing I was in charge just to name a few. As my contentment grew, I also came to see that one-sided love was among the most dangerous of traps...and began to guard my heart more judiciously as this was an area I'd been so badly hurt in. My sister pointed out to me I've never been with someone "normal" before...and I admit, I was content with nothing but crumbs tossed from the table by too many men in my past. Now however, I no longer fear being alone; I'm enjoying these unexpected days of cottage and sabbatical living. A little over a month ago I was overwhelmed by the choices before me: move home and be forced to share our still not sold home with the King, travel (the best choice it seemed at the time), or live alone. Fear prompted the two hour, tear fueled prayer down the mountain as I drove from Prescott to Phoenix; the resulting answer of staying put and skydiving seemed a wee extraordinary at the time. As I put each small step into play, however, I have seen an amazing outcome. Despite the great turmoil of an unsold house, waiting on others to decided about career opportunities and the like, I have had great peace. I'm doing all I can do, and am relaxing in the peace that passes all understanding. To have then a relationship change from friendship to more?
Unexpected, and I admit, I'm holding my breath.
This morning I need to go exercise-my first time since the hike that went wrong...and I'm hesitating. Just like falling in love-I'm so in free fall at this moment-but I was surprised to find shielding around my heart. In both cases, the warning I heed: I'm have to go early to hike, and I'll need to take it slow. Falling in love? Behind me is 25 years of mixed heart ache: joys, disappointments, highs and lows. I feel at this moment exactly as I did right before the ripcord was pulled-I'm enjoying it, I love it so much-yet I suddenly had to focus on breathing. Nothing was wrong, per se, and the second that chute filled I was fine. But those milliseconds before hand?
I'm right there.
I cannot love again if it is only me giving love....nor will I be content with crumbs, as I once was. This ripcord is not mine to pull, but someone else's.
He already has 100% of my trust.
I guess right now?
I'm going to enjoy the remainder of this free fall; relaxing in the fact I'm not in charge. Fear threw up a warning, and I've heeded it: don't fall in love if it's only going be you.
Pretty sure it's not.
There's no guarantees of the canopy even opening, of course. Or that it will open cleanly, or that a cutaway won't be needed. But for now? This moment?
This Wolverine is trusting a Buckeye...
I think it's going to be just fine. More than fine...it's time to fly:)
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