Eek.

At Guard competitions, Jeff and I are separated most of the day. He is on floor crew and I do video. The two jobs are mutually exclusive, because of two things:

1) the floor crew must sit on the "back side" of the gym during the performance; therefore, they can't see squat to take video
2) the floor crew is rolling out/up the floor and setting backdrops, and wouldn't have time to run up to the rafters to video the show in-between anyway

Normally this works fine, and we meet up here and there through the day. Jeff's parents are here this weekend, and yesterday evening, when we were gathering for what was to be a lovely dinner experience at the concession stand, we come out to find Jeff sliding down the wall to sit on the floor. He's really pale and when I get to him, he's broken out in a cold sweat.

He announces, "I haven't been able to catch my breath for about 3 hours." Holy #%$! What?! He has been out of breath since helping with the floor... twice... He says he feels better about it now though, because he's realized why: he gave two pints worth of red blood cells on Friday afternoon and he wasn't supposed to do anything strenuous for the next few days. Ohhhhhhh. Well okay then. (Yeah.)

So I watch him carefully, with my hand inconspicuously hovering over my cell to call 911 as my in-laws and I "casually" chat with another guard mom. It took him about a half hour of relaxing and deep breathing to finally recover.

People. If you can't catch your breath for more than... oh... 2 minutes, let your wife know.