A couple of years ago, at around this time of year, I started getting sick. It progressed into bronchitis, lasted a few weeks, left for a week, and then returned with a vengeance. I didn't have health insurance at the time and my budget held no extra funds for doctors visits and prescriptions, so I just toughed it out. It was quite horrible. I had a short vacation to Park City, Utah, planned for President's Day weekend. It fell right in the middle of my second round of being deathly ill. But damn it, I wanted to go on that trip. So I did. I marveled at the beauty of Utah in winter as I lay back in the passenger seat of the car. I remember seeing the big sign for the Hole in the Rock house. When we got to my friend's brother's house in Salt Lake City I went to bed. The next morning, he got up early to hit the slopes and I slept in. Later, the brother and I drove to Park City and met him for lunch. I was still so very sick. But I did it. The rest of the weekend is a blur to me. I'm not sure what happened. I think I was delirious, because my memories are mixed in with other trips and vacations I took when I lived in Colorado. When I think back on it now, I marvel at my perseverance and, as some might say, stupidity. But would I do it again? In a heartbeat.
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