I've had any number of wonderful ideas swirling in my head, which would make good blog posts, but it seems i shared a cell or two with other bloggers because they wrote about some of those things around the same time the idea was germinating in mine.
Why is it the most delightful posts write unconsciously in my mind and when i'm least able to get to the keyboard to compose solely for them? Yet, if i set out for that express purpose, the thoughts run away, as if hiding from a police raid.
Life has been busy and unremarkable in my small corner of the world. We finally got a proper snow around Christmas and another just after, giving us about 2 feet (nearly 61 cm) on the ground, and i felt everyone around, including me, exhale deeply. All was right with the world, even though all wasn't and isn't. But it seemed that my community was holding its collective breath until the ground was properly covered. Once that occurred, we could get on with things. I had bought Himself a pair of snowshoes for Christmas, and he was eager to try them out.
I have felt increasing inertia since my fractured metarsal and have become too comfortable with the ortho's recommendation to ease back into my usual activities, choosing to become a couch potato rather than go near activity. Himself came home one afternoon, breathless with excitement about a trail that was perfect for snowshoeing. I was getting done with my work day, and next day, we hit the trail together. The whole way up the hill i found my Inertia Self most put out with the physical activity. I knew that as uncomfortable and out of shape as i felt, the endorphins would kick in at some point, and carry the day. I told Inertia Self to cool her jets, we were on a lovely trail, even if i was a tad overdressed and shed a layer. Felt a lot better after that, and Himself kept a very comfortable pace. He was a tad concerned about how my fifth metatarsal would do, as this was the Most Strenuous thing i had done since i fractured it. We got to nearly the summit when i knew i needed to turn around. As much as i wanted to go the last 1/10 mile or so, it was very steep, and i wasn't sure i'd have enough left in the tank to get all the way back. I told Himself i'd wait if he'd want to go on up, but he decided against it. Going back down was work of a different kind, and i picked my way carefully. I ended up falling a few times, not entirely unexpected, although in the last fall, a goodly amount of snow worked its way between my skin and trousers, so it was a tad uncomfortable, and i was glad we were on the way back. We went almost 2.5 miles (4 km) round trip, and near the end where our trail combines with the multi-use trail, we saw two dog sleds with teams of dogs. Most of the dogs looked like purebred huskies or malmutes, with a few mongrels. All had their tongues hanging out a mile, tails erect, and clearly happy to be out for a run on such a glorious day. The young man driving the first sled with about a dozen dogs, slowed a bit, waved, and flashed a brilliant smile. He was strikingly handsome, blond, brown beard, and beaming with health and happiness. "Great day for it!" he said as he gave us a thumbs up.
"Your dogs look so happy," I said. Himself nodded, and had his phone poised to take a picture. I didn't think to bring my camera, and Himself hasn't figured out how to send me photos that he takes with his phone, but if i get a copy of it, i'll be sure to post it.
The young man smiled, nodded, and kept going. The second sled was pulled by about a half dozen dogs, and their human was a petite, blond haired woman. She was running alongside the sled, encouraging the dogs to pick up the pace.
About the time i recognized her, she smiled and waved, "Hi, Megan! How are you?"
It was Amy, one of my fellow hockey players. Unlike me, Amy is a natural athlete, and i envied the easy way she ran, the easy way she picked up skating, and her seemingly indefatigueable energy. She stopped and asked me if i were playing hockey, as she hadn't seen me, but then again she hadn't been there much this year. I explained about my fractured metatarsal and was only now getting back into the swing of things, going snowshoeing.
"Oh, yes, well, it's best to take it easy, and snowshoeing is a good start," she nodded. Himself asked about the dogs, and she explained that they were out of shape given our lack of snow last winter, and this being the first good snow. She had fewer dogs pulling her sled than her partner because she was light. "And i'm often running along with them, to encourage them to go, so i've probably run most of the 10 miles," she said in a very matter-of-fact tone.
Really, not a hint of egotism or don't-you-think-i'm-grand, and i marvelled. Here i was patting myself on the back for lumbering along a mere 2.5 miles, and she trotting alongside the dogs, encouraging them, helping to train them, especially the newest who was just over a year old. They started to bay, so we bade her well, and off she went.
We got back to our car, took off our snowshoes, and made the short drive home. I was glad to break through the inertia. The endorphins had kicked in, and i was reminded that i want to get back in shape because as nice as it is to be fit enough to shovel the driveway and paths, it's ever so much nicer to be fit enough to consider that but a warmup for a fun day on the trail.