Denver, Dehydration, and Fasting

I will preface this by saying I really do love traveling. I’m lucky that I am able to travel to sought-after destinations across the country for work. But, really, Denver? Did you have to leach every last drop of liquid from my body in a matter of 72 hours?

I arrived Wednesday night, and as I chatted with people I met along the way, almost everyone reminded me to drink water while I was there.

It reminds me of a time I met a woman named Deborah Drinkwater, and was so confused when she introduced herself. I thought, well isn’t SHE a little nosy, before I realized she was just telling me her name. But I digress.

WTH, Denver? This was nothing like I’d ever experienced, even in Las Vegas, in the desert. I turned into a raisin in the course of my stay, and no amount of water or lotion or conditioner could save me. I will tell you that I tried, though. I really did. And I’m terrible at drinking water. I drank and drank, and lotioned, and conditioned. My hair looked like I’d scuffed across a carpeted room in sneakers all day, and my hands looked like those fake witch hands you can buy at the Halloween store.

By the time I reached the airport to leave town Friday I had to buy the teeniest five-dollar vial of eye drops you can imagine just to keep my contacts from drying into opaque torture discs.

Now, you may be thinking, it doesn’t sound SO bad. Well, on top of that, try throwing a Jewish holiday during which one is meant to fast – and I mean let NOTHING past your lips, no food, no water – for 24 hours, sundown to sundown. My 24 hours began as I stepped onto the airplane at the end of my Epic Dehydrator Experience. I crossed my fingers and chugged a bottle of some horrid Snapple drink and stuffed a chicken wrap in my face while the sun dropped at warp speeds as I flew toward the east coast.

Now, because I sometimes like to think positively, I came away with this bright-side conclusion: If you must fly on Yom Kippur, go east… you’ll cut a few hours off your fasting day. And I had a “successful” fast, meaning I slept until 11 and only snapped at Sherpa once, around 2 p.m., when he said, “What’s wrong?” and I said, “I HAVEN’T EATEN SINCE 6 O’CLOCK YESTERDAY.” And I didn’t pass out. And I spent some time talking about/thinking about my year, as required by the holiday. And I was able to attend a lovely break-the-fast meal with quasi-family and friends. I enjoyed Denver, too, let’s be honest. It was beautiful, clean, VERY bicycle friendly, and full of people who were just SO ecstatic to be living there that I suppose the dryness thing gets better with time. I also played a game of giant Jenga, a version of which I believe Sherpa will be making for use on the soon-t0-be-completed flagstone patio.

Good stuff.


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