There are two big events in our area every June, important events. They are fund raisers for the Cystic Fibrosis Foundation. A local fifth grade student, and best friend of my grandson, was diagnosed with the disease when he was only a few years old. His elementary school just had a very successful finish to its annual Penny Drive. And today was the big four mile walk-a-thon. The community turned out in full support.
I wasn't going to go. No I wasn't. There was absolutely no way I could walk the four miles that were planned. Yes, it is for a great cause. Yes, my kids and grand kids would be participating. Yes, I would get a free tee shirt when I registered, free juice and water at the halfway point, and free lunch at the finish line. Yea, I know, I know, I know! But there is no way I can do it. I haven't walked that far since...well, since... who knows when? I certainly don't know and I really don't care. All I know and care about is four miles is toooooo far.
I will never know why I got into my car and drove to the community center where everything would take place. I just did. Then I registered knowing full well I would walk only a mile, turn around, go back to the starting point, get in my car, and head home. That would be more that enough walking for one day. Forget about the lunch and forget about the beverage break. At least I would have a new tee shirt. That became my plan.
So after registering, I put on my new "Walk Today" shirt, talked to folks as they milled around, and waited for the event to start. My family all showed up as did school kids, teachers, friends, and community supporters. After a few brief instructions, the herd of 100 men, women, and children stampeded off.
It wasn't really a stampede, just a filtering out of chattering, excited people anticipating a fun filled, sunny morning of fresh air and sea breezes. I stayed toward the rear of the pack because I knew I would be turning around fairly soon.
What a gorgeous morning it was--perfect for walking. The sun was out, the sky was clear, the temperature was in the low 50s, and the light breeze kept me from getting too warm. I was loving it. I loved looking at the cranberry bogs on both sides of the road. I loved seeing the flowers. I loved the sound of gurgling drainage ditches. I loved the gently swaying firs. But the thing I loved most was seeing all the people as they slowly spread out along the road. I knew I might be turning around soon, but I could tell all those folks were on a mission.
I could see the couples walking side by side, talking to each other and laughing. I could see small groups of women, some younger, some older, chatting away. There were moms with children in tow, and men with kids on their shoulders. There were men just walking along--sometimes alone, sometimes with others. Then there were groups of little boys running, shoving each other, and laughing. A couple uni-cyclists made their way through the crowd. And, of course, there were the clusters of giggling girls. And me.
Those were just the people. There were also dogs along for the jaunt. From bull dog to shepherd to puppy, the five or so leashed dogs either trotted beside their owners or were carried (as in "puppy") by the giggling teenage girls. And the horses, three I think, ridden by a mom and two young girls, clip-clopped along! What a glorious parade we all made.
In the midst of enjoying myself, I slowly realized I had probably passed the one mile mark. A majority of people had already crossed the highway and were headed for the beach. I still had folks behind me, though, and still felt pretty good, so decided I might as well get to the ocean. I mean, as long as I am already this close.
The walk along the beach was even better than the walk along the bogs. A dark bank of clouds on the horizon gave the impression of mountains in the distance. The misty morning haze that hadn't burned off yet gave a mystical feel to the setting. Trucks and other vehicles scattered along the beach were evidence of still-unseen people either walking or playing in the surf. And there, as I looked a long way down the beach, I could make out our string of walkers. I think they were gathering at the water/juice oasis. (I still had a long way to go)
I plodded on, only now I was no longer alone. One of my granddaughters had run up to me with her dog in tow. She said the pooch could keep me company, but I think the dog was slowing my granddaughter and her friends down. I gladly took the dog. If he slowed my granddaughter down, I now had an excuse for my slowing pace.
So doggy and I continued on. I checked out all the different bird tracks, shoe tracks, tire tracks, and dog tracks. Doggy sniffed at the clam shells, crab shells, seaweed, and people until we reached the refreshment stop where I chugged down a small bottle of Ocean Spray Cranberry juice.
OH NO! I suddenly realized I had trekked more than two miles. There was no turning back now. We were in this for the long haul. I looked at the panting fur at the end of the leash I held and said, "Come on, Dog, we must keep pushing on. Only ten hours of daylight left." I grabbed an extra bottle of water, in case of emergency, and off we trudged.
Not only had I walked more than two miles, but my body was also growing more and more aware of that fact. My left knee was a little sore. My right hip was complaining, and my back was stiffening up. But all in all, I was doing pretty well.
"Come on ole girl, you can do this," was now the mantra I repeated as Dog and I passed by a sand castle under construction.
At this point, the GPS in my brain kicked in. "Walk down the beach another half mile, turn left, walk up the beach approach road until sand turns to gravel, then pavement, cross the highway."
"Almost there, almost there!" I kept telling Dog.
"Gotta keep Dog encouraged." I told myself. Who was I kidding with that line?
The GPS in my head clicked on once more and said, "Turn left toward the community center."
Dog's leash tightened as she pulled and thought, "Speed it up a little, Grandma.
The part of me that 1 1/2 hours ago had decided to walk only one mile was now shouting out, "Left foot, right foot, straighten up, pick up the pace, you have this in the bag. Go girl, go."
Then I spotted potential rescuers walking my way. My daughter and son-in-law were coming to see where I was and if I needed a ride.
"Surprise, you two! No I don't. I can certainly walk this last 100 yards, thank you. Four miles, woot, woot! And I'm not even last. (high 5s all around)
GPS--"You have reached your destination!"
Me--"Food. Where's the food?"
What had been completely impossible when I got up this morning is now an accomplishment to be celebrated. Four miles might not have been Mt. Everest, but it had been an obstacle never the less--an obstacle that I blasted away.
I pray that in the not so distant future, Cystic Fibrosis will no longer be a disease/obstacle to be blasted away, but a disease that has a cure and can be prevented.
At this moment, I personally have another obstacle staring me in the face. For the past three hours, I have not moved from my bedroom rocking chair. I have been writing, editing, and writing some more. Oh, I hope I can move!
"Come on, ole girl. You can do this."
Stiffening up, tired, and happy,
Jan
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