Here I go, only three days out on my new drugs and I get the urge to hike Spring Lake. I used to hike at three miles here every single day, sometimes five and on the weekends, often ten miles.
When I began really feeling sick from this thyroid mess, the idea of hiking around the lake seemed insurmountable. I stopped even thinking about one of my favorite past-times….hiking.
So Friday at about 3:00 pm I decided to drive up into the lake parking lot and perhaps take a light walk around the lake … maybe a mile … I don’t have my good tennis shoes. It is a partially cloudy day, but you can feel the warmth of the sun. Quite a few outdoor enthusiasts are beginning to kick off their weekend past times. As I step away from my truck I feel like a stranger in a place I once knew better than my own face.
I start to walk, and by the time I am in to the park a mile, I feel fabulous and decide to continue the hike up through one of my old trails on the ridge. It is still muddy from the recent flooding. I should have my hiking shoes on, but I don’t, and persist in spite of my shoes.
I feel the weakness of my muscles at about two miles and am frustrated at the thought that right now a man might be able to kick my butt in the bedroom. I ignore my talking muscles and continue to where there is a view of the park. I am now at almost three miles into the park.
I decide to turn and hike down, and realize I am thirsty. I have brought no water. This tells you how long it has been since I was the hiking queen. At the fourth mile, heading out of the park, I feel my muscles growing tired. I stop at a water fountain and try to drink water between heavy breaths. I want to stop here and have some sexy man on a Harley magically ride up and offer me a ride … or a horse … a man on a horse would do. But, alas … no man to the rescue.
Small kids are passing me now. I have to save face and walk. On the last half mile of this almost six mile walk, I realize I am wearing one hell of a blister on to my left heel. The last quarter mile I am limping from the blister. I make it to my truck and think I must be nuts, but it felt oh so good. I had to smile at myself.
I ponder if my doctor will kill me.
His words “Three weeks Catherine, give it three weeks!” echo in my head. I stretch and get in my truck. Luckily Brian has left one of his bottled waters in the truck. I guzzle it down.
I just hiked over five miles (BIG GRIN).
I drive to the store, still limping like a warrior and buy some sushi for dinner. Once back home I remove my shoes and socks to eye a blister the size of a quarter. Not too bad. It is going to bug me like a bitch the next few days.
I enjoy my light dinner and decide to clean up my home. I haven’t had this much energy in three years. I even take a call from Peter at 11pm, who is thrilled at how I sound.
I sleep like a baby all night and arise ready to kick some butt today. This seems to be working – keep your fingers (and toes) crossed for me. Doesn’t the soreness kick in day two.
Tomorrow I could be so sore that I have to lay my toothbrush on the counter and move my head back and forth to brush my teeth…
Until next time-
This content is published under the Attribution-Noncommercial-Share Alike 3.0 Unported license.