A Good Walk Spoiled

A little known fact about myself: I'm not afraid to walk a good distance if I have to. One day in 2004, I walked about 12 miles on the Pinellas Trail from the Tyrone area of St. Pete to Largo to the apartment where I lived at the time. I did that on a warm late September day, staying hydrated here and there.

Last Thursday, I thought I would walk a couple of miles from an appointment I had to my home in Pinellas Park, where I live now. I hadn't walked that great a distance in a while, but I figured as long as I had water with me, I'd be fine.

Right? Wrong.

I'd gotten almost half way thru the trip, and all of a sudden my body felt I had gone 12 rounds with Mike Tyson. I was walking slow, and had started to waddle a bit. I had to call a friend to give me a lift back home, realizing I was in trouble.

By the time I got back, my body was reacting like it never had before. I was getting light headed, and struggled to get in with my key. I plopped on the bed, taking the ice pack I had to keep my water cold and applied it to my forehead. A bit later, I was fine.

What the hell happened, though? My body never reacted like that, ever. Was it the heat? It was a rather warm day in Florida, about 95 and no rain. I did wait until I got about half way through my walk before I went to my water, so maybe that contributed to it.

I just think I got older, and thus not as acclimated to my environment as I once was. So, I leave this here as a cautionary tale.


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