I could have died.

I almost called for help.

A little background:

I am an avid walker. I love to walk. I’ve been doing it since I was a teenager. Every evening I would go for a walk for a couple of hours. At that time it was just to get away from my parents (who, in all honesty, I REALLY thought were aliens from outer space and when I went to bed each night they peeled their faces off and turned back into aliens) but now it’s my exercise of choice.

If you see a slightly overweight, short woman in her fifties slogging around with her Nordic Poles, that’s me. I usually do about 30 – 40 miles a week. I live in beautiful countryside and every time I go walkies I think I couldn’t live in a more beautiful place. I get home all refreshed and even though my paws ache a bit it really sets me up for a good day.

Until yesterday.

Once a week I do what I call my Major Walkie. It’s about 10 miles and includes two Category One climbs. I’m pretty good at it now after doing it each week for about 6 months.

But I’d never done it on a hot day wearing Fit Britches and a Skinny Top. I was okay for about the first 5 miles. The last five, not so much. I was pouring with sweat, breathing (i.e. GASPING) for air. There was no shade. The usual endorphin high never came. I had to sit down on the side of the road and put plasters (band-aids for my American readers) on my feet.

I had my phone, I could have called my husband to rescue me (like I did when I’d found a lost dog) but I’m a stubborn old cow. I kept going.

It took 3 hours and 15 minutes. Finally got home, and I bent down to take my shoes off and found I couldn’t stand back up. Hunchback of Notre-Dam-like I staggered up the stairs and into my husbands office.

“You don’t look very good, darling. You’re very pale…” he said.

I looked at myself in the mirror.

It was horrific. I was kind of green. Not Kermit-green, but still, I was green.

I layed down on the bed until blood returned to my head.

I won’t be doing that again.