There’s a train that runs through a gorge in the Rocky Mountains. It’s called the Royal Gorge Route Railroad. You get on board in Canon City, about thirty minutes outside of Colorado Springs. The station is pretty drab, and it’s in the middle of nowhere. Once you’re aboard, the train meanders through a gorge in the mountains, alongside a river. You’re surrounded by beautiful red and brown rock shooting high into the sky above you, like looking at a skyscraper from the sidewalk.
It’s an incredible way to spend an evening. Matt and I got to experience it seven years ago as part of a work trip, and it was a highlight of my time in Colorado.
When we were waiting to board, though, the familiar feeling of my panic attacks started to set in. I’d gotten used to the sequence by this point, which usually went: clammy hands, followed by a racing heart, and then lightheadedness with a slight feeling of dissociation, like the world around me couldn’t catch up with the pace of my mind.
Christ. Not now.
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