Here’s the story. Today, we were playing Steal The Bacon Basketball…about the most benign game a PE teacher can play. Literally, I’m standing there calling out numbers. No movement on my part, no real heart rate increase. I look around for my G2 Gatorade drink, and it’s gone. I’m playing for awhile…no, calling out numbers for awhile, and then my heart starts to hurt, right on the left side of my chest. For five minutes, I have a sharp, acute pain that I can’t rub out, or get to go away.
Finally, I go to the office, see the Health clerk, who calls 911, who calls the Fire Dept., who calls the EMTs. They walk in, I start crying. I was embarrassed more than anything because I don’t want to be a drama queen. On the other hand, I didn’t want to die either, and wonder if I could have gotten help, would I have been okay? So, I’m weighing this dilemma: being embarrassed, or falling over with 4th graders who are arguing anyway about who made the first basket. So, how do you really know if you’ve just been stressed out, or if you are really in critical danger?
They take my blood pressure. It’s up. For maybe the first time in my life. I have stellar BP, and always have had, even when I weighed 250 (yes, right before birth). Then they said my heart rate was low. The EMT asked me what exercise I did, and I told her I started running in October. She said in runners, the good thing is that we have low heart rates. I think she said “WE”. I think this means that she thinks I’m a runner.
I’m a runner. Slow. But, I’m a runner. Then my Husker GF informs me that I don’t really run enough to have a good heart rate. She is still mad at me for edging her out in the 12K, when she yelled “BITCH!” as I elbowed her in the chute. I didn’t mean to, I just get that way at the end. So now, she is just taunting me. I love her to death, so I’ll forgive her for not letting me have a few moments of running pride.
So, four hours later, I have a clean bill of health. EKG, blood, all normal. I’m good.
Just wish I knew where my G2 was.