From my journal on the Grand Teton climb:  “Overwhelmed is how I felt atop the summit of Grand Teton. The exertion required to get there, and the grandeur of the view that greeted me were immense. I was humbled by the magnificence of the perch I’d managed to reach. And while the achievement was of personal significance, the powerful impact of such natural beauty served to abruptly put me in my place – I understood in one glance my INsignificance. There are few things that can so readily and with such sweeping conviction reveal what it is to be mortal.”

So now that’s off my chest, you must know the wonder of the climb has worn off. Completely. I’m in a weird place right now, lost, a bit depressed even. I can appreciate what Lewis felt after the expedition was over; mine of course on a much lower scale.

It seems the preparations to summit Grand Teton went long enough for “normal” to be altered. After a year of intense focus on the goal, I’m struggling to redefine what “normal” is post summit, post 5 and 6 workouts a week, post all that build-up.

Imagine a year’s worth of foreplay, then one great round of sex, the guy leaves for Antarctica (didn’t even spend the night) and you never hear from him again. Kinda like that.

Friends have said it’s time to start thinking about what’s next. I’m still tired, so thinking about what’s next doesn’t appeal to me in the slightest. Although I must admit Everest’s South Base Camp has wedged its way into my brain more than once.

Should I pick up where I left off on the fried foods I love so much, the fast food I am/was addicted to, the chocolate, mashed potatoes and gravy, biscuits, bacon and grits?  What about drugs? I’m not above their usage. I mean pharmaceutical companies spend billions developing drugs for every malady known to man. Is this a “malady”?  I can tell you for certain, the first time I feel the slightest twinge of a hot flash, I’ll have no qualms about using them. No question. They’ll shorten my life?  Generations of women in my family have lived to be near 100. So I die at 90.

Well that was a therapeutic tirade.  I feel better. Mountain or a molehill?  It’s just a molehill. This too shall pass. In the interim, how ’bout a cheeseburger?

A molehill cheeseburger

who needs drugs when these exist?

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