Pushing Through

 

  Overcoming obstacles is largely a mindset.

  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.

Trail vs. Treadmill

  The prize of walking is in the pushing on...

   I've walked a treadmill many times throughout my life.  Not saying I always disembarked when I was tired, but the possibility was there...within reach.  Temptation disguised as a big red button taunting me to "STOP," loitering within fingertips reach.  I'd think if a manufacturer is going to include a plastic, corded key to be yanked in case of EMERGENCY- they might want to issue some guidelines to the less motivated runner as to what a true emergency is.  After all, increased pulse and shortness of breath are natural results of an elevated heart rate.  Beyond actual medical concerns...I'm more thinking of mornings that inspired a brisk walk, so time was taken to don appropriate wicking gear only to have inspiration pass before Manual Mode was chosen.  Staring at the wall only goes so far when the mind begins to roll faster than the belt being tread on.  A hundred other "tasks" needing to be done speed into consciousness while the sweat that is barely beading becomes an annoyance.  Halfway through the intended 30 minute walk, the war that's been waged between determination and interest has been won and STOP comes to the rescue.  "I'll do better tomorrow" pacifies the ambitious psyche which advocated to exercise in the first place.

  Walking a trail or path offers no such safety net.  You've completed half your distance goal and motivation begins to wane...there is no STOP button.  Sure, you could sit your rear end off to the side of the path and hope some kind fitness buff, looking for a little extra resistance training, agrees to hoist your hundred and mumblemumble additional pounds over their shoulder and deposit you back from whence you came.  I'd venture a bet, which is less humbling than speaking from experience, that telling your own little "pansy" legs to carry you back to the starting point, because you didn't bring taxi fare, will get you there faster.  The prize  of walking a path or trail is in the pushing on- you got yourself there now get yourself back.  Bam!  Your walk time just doubled.

  Interesting transitions take place once you've committed to pressing forward.  The mind, which initially celebrated increased endorphins, digresses to calling you bad names while asking what you were thinking, before inevitably releasing it's death-grip focus on discomfort and finally eases into it's surroundings.   Finally submitting to the path you're on, it notices the view is decidedly more stimulating than drywall or cinder block. Mind over matter has just introduced you to a host of new sensory input.  No more same ol' same ol'.  Expanding horizons is a good thing. Take this morning's walk for example...  I never would have thought to mingle the scent of factory pollution, Fall leaves and cigar.  Nor would I have wanted to, yet that is the brilliance in allowing yourself new experiences.  I can still see the army green mittens of the fellow, out for a jaunt, surprising me as they lifted a cigar to his weathered lips before I passed that pedestrian and PUSHED ON.  A little further I looked back only to realize I could no longer see the gentleman's peaceful puffs.  However, there was a newcomer in a crisp, red jacket making gains.  My competitive streak kicked in as I thought, "the red-coats are coming, the red-coats are coming," and quickened my pace.

  Admittedly, I would have been disappointed in today's walk due to the uncharacteristic polluted scent yet I rounded the corner and the wind and vista shifted.  I was witnessing cool waters lit up with diamond like sparkles in a marsh I had forgotten was there.  Yet another prize from pushing on.  By the walks end my ambitious psyche had prevailed over my pansy legs to reward me with a sense of accomplishment, a trip away from my daily grind, and a darn good work-out--no taxi needed ;) 

DUCK! and cover...

 

 It's a good thing I knew today opened Waterfowl Season in the Lake Erie Zone... 

  Walking glorious paths of breath-taking, fall beauty while losing myself in interior dialogue is a common occurrence these days.  "I don't know if there's a name for the color of those leaves.  It's a sort of bright orange tinged with yellow and red."  Sniiiiif...yes, inhale deeply to further ingest nature's best.  "Ahh, it's so amazingly beautiful out here.  The sky is so clear and the water is so calm.  I can't get over how peacefxx..." BAM! BAM! BAM!

 "Good one!," I think as I lower my right knee, unclasp my heart, slowly unscrunch my eyes, and relax my lips to cover bared teeth.  I don't think I would fool any human or duck into believing I meant to strike that pose.  Might as well continue walking and remind myself to just look straight ahead as cheeks flame and heart tries to find it's way back to a normal rhythm.

  My husband and sons are hunters.  I knew it was bound to happen.  But that staccato of reports sounding off to my right caught me off guard and scared me as readily as a good glaucoma test.    Sounds weird I know, but to endure the optical exam's blast of forced air, though some call it a tiny puff,  prompts self imposed strong arm tactics.  I have to force my forehead against the headrest while every inch of my face is crumpled and eyes are narrowed to the tiniest of slits.  The expectation of what's coming is clearly worse than the actual outcome.  I know this is a personal quirk that delights some family members and irritates others to no end.  C'mon, doesn't everyone get freaked out by the suspense that builds while waiting on the *pop* caused by placing a spoon to the crease of a can of crescent rolls?  I've finally given up on bullying myself to do it with arms outstretched, hands wrapped in oven mitts, and face turned away as far as possible.  Now, I just pretend I need help with dinner and call my kids in to do the task.  I'm astounded at their bravery!

 For future walks, I suppose I should practice not flinching.  I'll be sharing the Peninsula with 73 lucky duck hunters who won first chance to stake their blinds for the next couple months.  I concede I could eliminate post traumatic stress by January if I chose to walk in a less unnerving location...but I'd just as soon face a plethora of eye-puffs before I'd give up Presque Isle in all it's seasonal glory! 

Rinng Riiiing Riiiiing....Pillsbury called...they suggested I try Wintergreen Gorge.