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Lessons Learned From a Georgia Girl Living in Colorado (So Far)

I've been here about 2 and a half weeks and already I feel like I've learned so much. And typically I've learned the hard way. 

Because. Helen.

Example? Snow tires. On my first free day off from work I got Brucey and myself all ready to go for a hike...there are so many places within a 10 minute drive from where we live and I was SO excited to get out like an adult and go do something active. We didn't make it out of the driveway. Halfway up to be precise. Turns out, my front wheel drive Honda Accord with questionable tread on it's tires to begin with, was incredibly ill-equipped for snow. Halfway. We got halfway. Then we rolled back a little bit to "get more traction" because I was told that's something you do. Terrible idea in hindsight. Good news is I missed the stone wall that lines one side of my driveway by a literal inch (I measured). Bad news is I had to climb out of my passenger side, I cried a lot and poor Bruce had just gone on the most underwhelming car ride of his life.

Another example? Winter clothing. The temps here can drastically change from -1 degrees to 35 degrees (which feels downright BALMY, btw). That means that the stupid, yet adorable, Patagonia jacket and cashmere gloves I lived in during Georgia winters were not going to cut it in Colorado. Cut to a trip to REI on day #4. Thank you, convertible Columbia jacket, real gloves, neck buff, wool socks and cute, but warm hat....(and a big thank you REI member rewards, as I feel I'll be cashing in). 

Oh, then there was this one time I got the worst f'ing hangover from 3 beers. This, of course, was after spending a fair amount of time bragging to my co-workers that, yes, I had already consumed a bottle of wine at 9,000 feet and felt just fine the next morning thank you very much. (*Note...said bottle was not consumed while on my own and I was celebrating my move. Don't judge). For some reason, I haven't learned to shut my face and that brag session turned into one hellacious headache and bout of nausea after meeting someone (no one exciting) for THREE beers at, like, 6,000 feet. Got home that night felt fine, next morning? Wanted. To. Die. Maybe this has something to do with drinking a lower altitude then climbing higher? Maybe I'm full of shit? I dunno. It happened, though.

For the most part, I'm fairly acclimated, minus my first big and very sexy nose bleed this morning. 45 degrees feels warm and 60 is glorious! Everywhere I drive is scenic and breathtaking (other than the outskirts of Denver) and I hope I never get used to it. I live in a state that encourages people to get outside no matter the weather and I've got list after list of places to visit and hike and bike.

Although I have a long way to to go, this Southern girl is getting it figured out slowly, y'all! Even if it is the hard way.

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