Navigating my Toyota along the tortuous roads to an elevation of 5,200 ft. was enough to leave me feeling light-headed and dizzy, but today's morning run felt like a sternly humbling punch in stomach. I rose early and got out the door shortly before sunrise. Progressing at an easy pace, I was reminded of Thanksgiving weekend runs in Cedarville, MI -- the same coniferous crispness in the air. Passing by pine cones the size of my calf muscles, I felt the rhythmic ascending/descending pattern of running along a mountain face. While my legs pistoned compliantly, my lungs and heart raced to process the thin air. Certainly a combination of physiology and psychology were at play, but I never expected to notice such a pronounced difference. Thankfully for my body's well-being, I was pushing the limits of my schedule, so I had to turn back after only a few miles (running maybe 6 miles in total).
Throughout the morning and afternoon, as we sat inside for lectures and poster sessions, clouds continuously enveloped the resort -- making me feel like I was surrounded by giant humidifiers. During our free period, three friends and I decided to take a hike along nearby trails. Clouds continued to roll over and around us, as we meandered through fallen trees, overgrown shrubs, and dried-up creeks. I stumbled along awkwardly in Crocs -- characteristically poor planning on my part. As my feet pressed onward up and down hills, I felt the same shortness of breath and general light-headedness that I've come to associate with any physical exertion a mile above sea level -- and I had a momentary flashback of the utter exhaustion that came with snowboarding (read: falling) down the Austrian Alps in 2008 during a Reetz lab ski trip.
The mist steadily transformed into rain, and we managed to find our way back to our car before we became too drenched to appreciate the fresh taste of the mountain air and the cool touch of the clouds.
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