In 2011 The Hubs and I made two trips to Vegas, once in May and again in August. Both times we walked the strip every night for hours. We went out to clubs and danced and had drinks and it was all a blur of laughs and music and fun. I knew that this trip would be different, I knew that there would be less walking, less staying out all night and more stops to sit and people watch. I just didn’t know how much time I would spend comparing the 2011 Vegas version of myself to the 2014 Vegas version.
The last trip I went on was a family vacation to Florida in 2012 where we spent 5 days in a condo on the beach with the kids. We walked the beach, swam, and wondered the town on our own time. It was amazing and I even had two days where I needed no medication at all to manage my pain. It was this memory that made me feel like I could enjoy our Vegas trip just as much. I am disappointed that the most prominent memory of my trip is the amount of pain I was in almost every single day.
There were things I knew would be tough going in to this trip. Things like walking the strip for hours at a time-not going to happen. Staying up until 4 am with the group-not going to happen. I had expected to be the first one to call it a night, every night, and I was okay with that. At least, I was okay with it until I was the one sitting in my hotel room alone for 8 hours. That made it a little harder to accept.
Walking through casino after casino on any given night there is no shortage of nightlife, and while we had made our own plans for shows and entertainment I still felt that pang of envy when I walked through lobbies full of beautifully dressed up women anxiously waiting in line for their chance to get into the club.
They were done up from head to toe in little black dresses and killer heels ready to dance until three in the morning. I wanted to be them. I was them, once upon a time. I had felt good about the maxi dress and sensible flats I had chosen for our evening out until this moment. Looking at all those girls I felt frumpy and out of place. As we weaved our way through the crowds to get outside I had to bite my cheek to stop myself from sobbing right there in the lobby.
Looking back on the trip now I realize I still tried to “keep up” with the rest of our group. I tried to walk the strip as much as they did, I literally even tried to walk as fast as they did, because otherwise I was the one slowing everybody down. I was the one who needed to sit for a minute, to cut the wandering down the strip short for a break. It was honestly easier to stay in then to bring myself to ask the group to slow down for me. The Hubs tried, I know he did, but I could see it on his face when he would ask “Do you want me to stay with you?” I knew if I said he yes that he would sit with me and watch The Strip from our room, but I also knew how badly he wanted to be out there, in it all.
We’ve been home now for about 48 hours and have already discussed what we would do when we go back. But honestly I don’t know if I can go back. I don’t know if I have it in me to push myself to keep up with the lights. I don’t know if I want to feel like the flat tire on the party bus again. If Vegas were a guy, my friends would say it was time to end it. No person should ever make you feel so inferior. I wonder, then is it time to break up with Vegas?