This is me at the highest point we could reach of The Great Wall. I was told there was a Starbucks up here. I got news for you--capitalism has not reached this far. I am a 41 year old, balding, slightly pooched, guy who is sweating like a pig. I cannot breathe and my chest is pounding. If I had to make choice, I would rather get hit by a truck, have a kidney stone, and a cystoscopy, and a knee surgey, all at the same time, than climb these steps again. I am heading back down--time me. If I do not blog again in 45 minutes, please call Great Wall 911 and tell them a stinking (literally) American has dropped to his knees somewhere on the Great Wall. Kids, I love you.
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