Welcome! Lenkaland shares my adventures in creative photography, raising two kids, writing, living with chronic illness, raising a daughter with dyslexia, and swimming with mermaids. Hope you have a nice stay!

48.7° I did the very thing that I caution everyone about.  I took a little walk that turned into an epic hike.  I paid for it all day Sunday.  The hardest part was it wasn't an epic hike at all.  It was just epic for me.  And it drove home this tumbling-feeling where I thought, this would have been easy ten years ago . . . oh no, what's becoming of me?

The walk itself was nothing, really.  Maybe a little something.  The sun was out and the kids were tearing up the house so I thought, let's find the track at the high school across the street.  They can run.  It'll be different, but not far.  With Ian in the stroller, Anika and I walked across the street.

Our local high school is big.  And I must say the accessible ramps were not well marked.  So we crisscrosed hunting for a way to get the stroller to the track.  We hit a couple dead-end elevator-with-a-key access points (it was the weekend) where I had to carry Ian down.  Anika would watch him and I went back up for the stroller.

Finally we got down to the track.  The kids ran all of five minutes before Anika tired out.  We headed back up the hill.  I saw a cute little nature trail.  We took that, found acorn caps, and came to a fork in the path.  "That way," Anika said, pointing back the was we came to a steep hill.  The other way sloped much more gradually and seemed to curve right to the road.  "That way," I said.  It seemed like a good idea at the time.

The trail didn't head towards the road.  It ambled alongside the road, behind rows of fenced houses.  With just enough gravel that I had to push Ian pretty hard.  Steer around tree roots.  The usual obstacles.

But since we hadn't left for a big adventure, I didn't have my phone.  And when the trail finally let us out, we were ages away from home.  I leaned on the stroller and cursed that no-phone decision.  "We should call Dad," Anika said.

But it wasn't that far in my logical-mind.  I had no good reason for feeling so wore out.  Come on, I thought, it's nothing.  We used to walk this far for a candy bar as kids, then sprint back to Grandma's house.  Uphill.  I didn't need rescuing (even if I had the means to call for a rescue).  So we steered down a side street and made our way home, Anika saying how I'd made such a wrong turn.

We made it home.  "There," I thought, "Imagination.  I can do these things after all.  No problem."

Except the energy was just gone in me.  The whole next day I dragged.  I was grumpy.  Irritable.  Craving a nap.  A dark day.

Didn't help that we did more walking in town, or that I had a fun evening on Saturday.  Sure, all of that contributed, too.  But that accidental hike loomed over it all.  The smallness of it, the fact it should not send me into a spin, and yet the spin I was in . . .

Reconciling limits with expectations.  Right there.  The set up was the stroller, the unplanned exertion, the lack of a way-out once I hit the wall . . .

I can still walk, still have adventures.  Just . . . pay attention.  Please.  The fall-out was no fun.

Living with CMT, Day 13,771

Bubbles, Horse Races, and Fairy Houses