I didn’t pass out. But I felt like I was about to. My legs turned to jelly, my vision clouded over like a fogged windshield, and I had that strange, sinking feeling that if I didn’t sit down immediately, I might never get back up. And here’s the kicker—it wasn’t some scorching 105-degree day in July. It was only 90 degrees. Florida heat, yes, but not a record-breaker. Still, it nearly broke me.
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