Rocky Mountain High

I was thrilled in the airport. After touring the Mormon Tabernacle Square, I felt excited and energized to finally be in Utah. Only when we settled into my friend’s home did, I notice my first problem.

“I’m out of breath when I walk up a flight of steps,” I confided to my husband.

“Drink water,” my husband said as he hydrated with his third bottle of the day.

Determined to refute his simplistic diagnosis, I wandered downstairs to find my friend being a wonderful hostess, busy preparing a delicious meal in her kitchen.

“I’m a bit winded when I climb the stairs to the guest room,” I told her. “Clearly I’m out of shape, but I’m also vaccinated, and I wore a mask in the airport, so I guess I’m surprised to feel that way.”

“Altitude,” she said with a smile while her hands were busy assembling a salad. “We’re at seven thousand feet in Park City. You need to drink lots of water.”

Not wanting to be a stubborn suburban southerner, I followed her advice and started to consume what seemed like several gallons of water that evening. By bedtime, I felt better and silently congratulated myself for adapting. After all, hadn’t I even skipped wine at dinner to show my commitment to acclimating to a new environment?

The next morning, all was well as we set out to do some sightseeing. Driving out of town, the road started to wind farther into the remote wilderness. From my backseat window, I marveled at the sheer beauty on the mountains. Everything seemed so exotic until my friend shared a few facts.

“We lose cell phone signals out here, so don’t let that surprise you,” she said as we sped along the open road.

Her words started to sink into my brain along with my first twinge of concern.

“So, if the car breaks down and you get stuck out here, what do you do?” I asked.

“Oh, we hike,” she answered with a shrug. “It’s usually just a couple of miles before we find somebody out here.”

Listening to her breezy answer, my breathing started to falter again. Hike a few miles? On my best day, my walking routine consisted of a stroll around my neighborhood followed by some serious sofa time. Just the thought of venturing out in such unfamiliar terrain was enough to give me a mild panic attack. Besides, the only hikers that we had passed on our foray into nature looked more like modern-day members of the Oregon Trail.

“Don’t worry,” my friend said, sensing my concern, “this area is not nearly as remote as the Moab desert that we are going to visit tomorrow.”

With wide eyes, I studied the rugged landscape. Before I knew what was happening, my hands had tightened over my seat belt in a death grip.

Unfortunately, it took me most of a week to feel comfortable enough to embrace our western adventure. On the final day of our Utah vacation, I finally began to feel like a bit of a local as my husband and I sat in a small Park City restaurant. Seated in front of a roaring fire, we watched a couple in designer outfits approach an adjoining table.

“I just need certain things,” the man told his companion, unaware that we could hear his conversation. “My health is important to me. I need to see the dairy-free, gluten-free, and free-range menu.”

His list of requirements made me chuckle.

“Goodness,” I whispered to my husband with a shake of my head, “he doesn’t sound very flexible.”

“Speaking of flexibility, why don’t we pay our bill and finish that hike in the woods that we started this morning? My muscles are getting stiff from too much sitting.”

“Of course,” I said, eyeing the charming main street and resorts from my chair, “just as soon as I finish my latte and my shopping.”

On the flight back to Memphis, I reflected on my trip…you can take the girl out of the south, but you can’t take the south out of the girl.