Away We Stay: Firsts

First, I got hurt.

More accurately, a very minor thing that sort of smarted every now and then turned into something I could no longer ignore.

You know that moment when you know you're going to have to do something really, desperately unpleasant? And you know that it's going to suck and that you're actively making the choice to do the sucky thing? But you also know that if you don't, something awful is going to happen and you'll rue the day when you had the choice whether or not to do the sucky thing? That you'll basically be waiting around wondering whether this is when the consequence of my crap decision comes crashing down? So inconvenient for it to be tomorrow. I have a presentation to prepare.

“This one wasn’t earned. This one was forced. I guess all the true lessons arrive precisely this way.”

So just do the yucky thing. In this case, it was rest. No running. No mountain biking. No hiking. No heart pounding of any kind. It turns out that mostly healthy legs are necessary for all of the above.

The reason this was particularly yucky was the proximity of mountains and multi-use trails in which anyone can do any of the above. Dozens within a few minutes of the house. Thousands within an hour’s drive. Snow still on some of the upper trails. I had already made a list of the summits for the summer.

I un-bookmarked that page three hours into recovery. Simultaneously discovering that I have been using exercise as a drug. When it's 9:15 am on a Sunday morning and you're viscerally uncertain as to whether you can actually survive the next few hours without doing a certain thing, that thing is officially being relied upon too much.

Granted, if you're going to be reliant on something, running isn't a bad way to go. In my case, it’s not especially robust, speedy, or significant movement. But it's the need to do something and the not knowing if you can live without it that's the rub. That kind of thinking leads nowhere good. There be dragons.

So here I am in this place that I'm thrilled to be in and thrilled to explore on foot and the foot will not be meeting the ground nearly as often as I want. How could I manage to injure myself in the first week in this outdoor paradise when I hadn't had a major issue in years?

The universe sees fit to tell me to slow down. Haven’t got a clue why here and why now. Normally my concept of when to tell myself to rest is the point of fairly substantial fatigue. I have to earn it.

This one wasn't earned. This one was forced. I guess all the true lessons arrive precisely this way. I suppose I should thank this confluence of events but I'm far too petty right now.

In the meantime I'll grit my teeth, I'll try to breathe and I'll be cheering for a few inches of fascia to calm down. Could it happen yesterday, if you don’t mind? If the stars could arrange for that, please?

Inspired by events in Snyderville, Utah