Although my alarm was set for 4:50 am, I was awake long before the first “beep beep beep” sounded from my phone. This morning started like so many others: throwing the covers back, drenched in sweat.
Ah, hot flashes. They rob me of precious sleep, make me feel uncomfortable in social situations, and betray my physical age versus the way I feel.
Every stereotype that my younger self heard from elders was correct. My hope was that they would soon be subsiding, instead of ramping up – a hope that went up in a puff of hot flash smoke radiating off the top of my head. Just this month, a new study was released that found hot flashes and night sweats can last up to 12 years. Yes, 12 long and sweaty years.
So, I made my way to the window. It was still dark and snowing. I wanted nothing more than to crawl back under the covers (after mopping my sweaty brow), but then I remembered the reason for the early alarm: a 6 am spin class.
I need to exercise first thing in the morning before the craziness of the day sets in and my motivation wanes, so I bundled up and headed out into the snowy quiet of a city still asleep.
I finished the class, dripping with sweat and feeling fantastic and accomplished.
Oh, the irony. If only hot flashes could produce the same results.