EAT THE PAIN . . .

I am so, so, so tired right now.

What an invigorating and exhausting past five days I have had. Words cannot express the incredibly high highs I've hit, or the devastatingly crushing lows I've bottomed onto. I ate some of the most satisfying meals ever, as well as scrounged among the measliest pickings. I have felt cleansed and refreshed and loved, as well as dirty and sweaty and hopeless. And despite a few luxurious and cherished naps here and there, I've remained sleepless, tossing and turning, waking every hour on the hour for no apparent reason.

Dr.S says I'm fine. My cholesterol level is wonderfully low. My thyroid is as yet under control. There is no explanation for my nights of non-rest or the weight loss or the shakiness or the dizziness or the persistent thirst. Whatever ...

But in the midst of some of the uncertainty I struggle through, there is still humor: I stupidly ran up a steep mountain yesterday during the NHF retreat's team relay/faux-adventure race. For one thing, I really didn't think it would be that steep. I mean, it's a Christian retreat center, for crying out loud. Why would they want to crush your body? For another thing, I thought my team actually had a chance to win the faux adventure race. (Never mind that four of the six teams had gotten a head start on our team, a la "The Amazing Race.") So, I kind of got dizzy on my way up, and I thought I was going to break an ankle on the loose rocks on the way down. But I ran up that damn mountain and I'm paying for it today. Walking down a flight of stairs is particularly painful. Thighs of steel, my ass. I would even say that I need a massage, but I think it would hurt too much to have someone else press on my thigh muscles.

What was it DYC said again? The first shall be last and the last shall be first? Yeah, note to self: next time, WALK. Or better yet, send someone else up the damn mountain.