The other night brought howling winds. I hadn't gotten my walk in that day and I was determined to keep the schedule I had going. Add to that, the text from my accountability partner telling me to get out in that stinkin weather. She had run seven miles facing 50 mph winds. How could I not walk my two measly miles?
Dusk was due pretty soon after the motivating text came in so I needed to move it. I sought the child most susceptible to pitying their mother walking alone in inclement weather. Thank you dear sixth grade son:) By the time we got to the Peninsula the winds were whipping the waves into a choppy soup threatening to splash if we got too near. It was necessary to divert my son's growing apprehension in facing the creaking, thrashing limbs of trees lining the path. I tried to talk him into looking horizontally instead of vertically at the overhanging frenzied branches.
Not even half way to our turn around mark, my son was reaching high-anxiety levels, complete with screaming over the wind, pleading, glistening eyes squeezed in fright, and hands locked over his ears. "C'mon, we're almost there!," came my return plea. "I want to go home! Don't you hear how dangerous this is?," he shouted right before a branch landed behind us with a loud CRACK! For the first time since I began walking this summer I began to add interval sprints. "Hey", I panted during the recovery phase, "courage doesn't mean you're not afraid. It means you feel the fear but do it anyway." I don't know what reserve of strength kept my son moving forward in the darkening night as the wind screamed, branches yelled menacing threats, and dried leaves accompanied the desolation with their scratchy skittering for cover across the paved paths. Our backdrop of the rolling water leapt into 3-D focus with intermittent sprays adding to the surreal evening that seemed to intensify in danger the further we went. We continued on at a quickened pace while I yelled to myself as much as to my frightened boy, "Don't miss the beauty!" Though justified in our wary state, it would have been a shame to miss the crescent moon taking center stage in the stormy sky.
We did it! We made it to the half way mark...now to get back.
We were face to face with an onslaught of the wind's full force pushing back against our efforts. My son's arms were aching from his effort to hold them against his ears the entire way. He resisted my earmuffs and gave me a scathing look at the offer of my fluorescent pink scarf. My legs were feeling the burn from unfamiliar exertion. Our clothes billowed out as we held onto one another during the frequent burst of upscaled gales. Anxious to be out of harms way, my son said, "C'mon Mom, let's run through this next part!" I knew he wanted to quickly get through the tunnel of trees lining both sides of the next hundred yards. We had already been stepping over downed limbs. I felt the leaden weight in my legs and knew I had reached exhaustion..."I can't. I just don't think I can do it." Clearly, I had made an error of judgement in pressing on- but we had no choice but to get ourselves back to the car. We had three quarter mile to trod and we would have to fight for every step.
That was the moment I realized how brazenly I had encouraged my son about courage as I kept on in the face of his keen terror. He had kept going...I figured he'd be proud of himself for overcoming his fear. I hadn't the extreme mental mountains he was climbing to get over that hurdle. I truly believed we'd be fine- I had walked this trail in a downpour before though my son had not. My son is a lean and lanky, natural runner...though I am not. I looked at the path ahead and made the decision to push my legs and lungs hard! If I could ask my son to keep going, in what appeared to be a death-defying situation from his perspective, then I better darn well give his request the same respect and push through my perspective which insisted I simply could not.
I gained insight as we rounded the bend to the safe comfort of our car. It's easy to ask others to keep going in the face of their struggle when we know the outcome. It's easier yet if they are our children and we have authority that can demand it. It would be very good for our appreciation of what we are asking of them if we but walk, or run, in their shoes every now and then.
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