It’s a gorgeous November day in San Diego, and we’re trekking up a local hiking route, sweating out the previous evening’s debauchery. I’d tested before we began hiking, and was safely in the 200’s after a greasy breakfast. Still though, I’d given him two packs of GU to carry for me and I had two tucked in my kit as well. Would not be good to get a low on top of a mountain without any glucose– it’s a long way down.
We climb upward, winding up the trails and breathing more heavily as the hike continues. We pass other hikers, dogs and families, people walking solo and larger groups. We say “hi” to each passerby and continue on. Our conversation flows between peaceful, quiet moments where we only hear the sounds of each other breathing and the dirt beneath our sneakers.
We’re about three fourths of the way up the mountain, and I decide to check. I have no idea where my numbers are. Between my slight hangover, having been hiking uphill for an hour already, and my Dex not calibrated yet from a new sensor, I couldn’t tell how I felt. We pause and I make a work station on a nearby rock. The meter counts down. 338. Maybe I went a little too conservative on my breakfast insulin.
“What are you?” he asks.
“Uhm. Eh.” I respond
“Did it not read or…?” he asks, his face quizzical.
“No, its just, uhm, its pretty high.”
“What are we talking here? 200s? 300s?”
“I don’t want to say, it’s a bad number.” I tell him.
“Alexis, are you serious? You don’t need to hide it from me.”
“338. See. Its bad.”
“That’s not so bad. You had to factor in having drinks last night, a big breakfast, sleeping in late, and now hiking, that’s a tough one.”
“I know,” I tell him. I dial in 2 units on my PDM. “You’re right, that was a really tough one to get correct.”
He smiles at me and I smile back. We turn our faces up the hill and keep hiking. And the summit was more beautiful that I had remembered.