I woke up on the floor the other evening.
I was really confused when I opened my eyes. I was laying on the floor in my roommates office. The dog was looking at me with a really confused look in his eyes as I squinted back at him. Instinctively, I knew I had to be somewhere. Oh yeah, I was about to leave to go to Whistler to go skiing. So why the hell was I on the floor?
As I slowly came-to, my roommate asked casually if I was ok. I peeled myself off the floor and asked him if I had hit my head. He wasn’t sure, but didn’t think so. Alright, that’s a good start. I sat down on the couch and tried to replay the events that had just transpired.
Earlier that morning, I had cooked myself a typical breakfast: three eggs and a half pound of bacon. I make my coffee by the cup: two tablespoons of grounds for the Aeropress, in order to make the perfect americano. Throughout the day, I normally enjoy two to four cups like this. I had been up since five, my normal alarm time. I worked most of the day, had a few interesting phone conversations but nothing out of the ordinary. After my lunchtime walk which I had extended to cover most of the hour, I started gathering my gear to go out skiing for the weekend. I got caught up with packing and ordering my gear, so I passed on lunch; more coffee was the solution. By the time I was face-down on the floor, I hadn’t eaten any sugar and was five cups of coffee (10 shots of espresso) into my day.
After a bit of pacing, my friends showed up. I casually mentioned that I had blacked out. This hadn’t happened before, hasn’t happened since, and won’t happen again. I was not respecting my body – a cardinal sin in my life.