The lights are on
Veteran Member - Level 13
Hobbling over to the planted
bicycle machines, I could feel my body protesting in wanted ache. Not only was
I tired, I was hurting. No matter, it was only exercise. What possible damage
could it do?
I had only just finished the
day's fifteen-minute run on an elliptical stationed among ten others at the
YMCA. With it still being around ten-o'-clock in the morning, the crowd wasn't
at its thickest. I'm glad many hadn't come yet, because I was beat. It was only
fifteen minutes, but I shouldn't have been so tired.
I continued to strain against
my body, struggling to capture oxygen in each constricted breathe of my
diaphragm. Even with the enlarged lungs and breathing technique of a brass
instrument player, it was proving to be a rough time.
The floor seemed to be
lowering, the walls closing in. At the very least, the sensation crept its way
into my eyes, in an occurrence that I can only relate to the tunnel-vision one
gets from standing up to quickly after a long sentence of laying down. I stood
up from the bicycle machine's seat, and made my way towards the front lobby of
the building. There would most likely be more comfortable chairs to rest in up
Having now gotten up, my tunnel
vision continued to bug me with its presence, prickling the backs of my eyes
and challenging my hand-eye coordination. I recall stumbling my way up the
shallow steps and into the main lobby, with perhaps only fifty-percent of my
vision to aid me.
Plopping down on a large seat,
I worked my body into several positions that could advocate comfort or ease of breathing,
but it was no use. The walls continued to close on me, and my vision fell away
from the avenue to my brain.
Having previously known the
location of the man at the front desk, I turned my head toward him and pushed
out only a few words, "Excuse me sir".
Sounding like he had already
been caught off guard, he responded quickly. "What is it, son?"
"I can't see."