Walking The Nut Run

Brenda Starr brought it up months ago.  She decided, with some prompting by Jon-Her-PT, that we needed to set a goal.  Watching the pedometer would take us only so far; an achievable but ambitious point on the horizon would sharpen our focus and demand that we perform.  The Pecan Festival in her small town outside Tucson was sponsoring a Nut Run, 5 kilometers through the mature pecan orchard.  Didn't I think that we could train our way up to that?  We had months to prepare... it would be fun.... Basil St. John would make t-shirts.... we'd have a team name.

Brenda Starr is quite persuasive. This should not continue to surprise me; her job requires that she have real opinions and be able to express them clearly.  Her perseverance, her refusal to take a step backwards, her smiley Of course we can do it, are qualities I admire and respect even though they end with me waking up at 6am to walk further than I'd walked since bullets perforated my hip and my thigh and my butt. 

She was persuasive.  I was panic stricken.

I was uncertain about the surface.  I was worried that it would be hot... and then I worried that it would be cold.  I couldn't find a water bottle which didn't leak when turned on its side to fit my fanny pack.  I didn't want fans watching me lumber past, following pitifully, hours after the runners had crossed the finish line.  I knew it would hurt. 

She sent me a text, then an email, then a Facebook Message, and then she called my cell phone and left a voicemail.  She never calls; we are face-to-face or words-on-the-screen communicators.  She started out confirming our plans for the morning and ended up wondering if I'd fallen off the face of the earth.

I took two deep breaths and called her back.  I admitted my ambivalence... my terror... my inability to confront it outright... and, as I'd feared, she was fearless and ready to go. Of course we can do it.

I reminded myself that I'd walked on the beach in Santa Monica last month, that I could bring my hiking sticks, that there had to be a sag wagon in case of emergency, and then I laughed at myself, picked up the gear I needed, loaded the car, set my alarm, and forgot about it... or tried to forget about it.... and then I went to sleep and woke up and ate my hard boiled egg and kissed TBG and his achy knee goodbye. 

There was a registration tent, which made Brenda Starr surprisingly happy.

T-shirts and numbers and small bags of pecans were distributed, and Basil St. John graciously ferried our loot the quarter mile back to their car.  Brenda Starr and I were saving our steps for the race course. 

We took advantage of his absence to admire our numbers.... Brenda Starr's first ever 5K number. We were standing in the queue of her first ever walking race.  This was a triumph and she knew it and I realized that while I was mourning what once was, she was celebrating what she is.

She was in the moment, reveling in what she.. what we.. had accomplished, and she was absolutely right.  I stopped moaning to myself.  It was a beautiful Saturday morning, and I was there to enjoy it.

 

I adjusted and readjusted my poles until they were just right.  I looked over the countryside, watching the tractors,

reading the interpretive signage describing the pecan harvest.  I hydrated as Jon-Her-PT joined us and hugged us and I stepped into his embrace because he had been absolutely right when he suggested that we set a goal. I was moving into Brenda Starr's frame of reference.  It felt great.

 

No matter how long it took, we would not be defeated. We would complete the course.  Our time didn't matter. We were going to walk using all of our bodies, not concentrating on the parts that weren't working quite as well as they might or as they will but it is what it is and then the guy without a microphone or a bullhorn was giving instructions and we were off. 

 

We weren't at the back in the beginning.  But we were there before long. 

 

It didn't matter.  Jon-Her-PT walked backward in front of us and corrected our form and reminded us to swing our arms and to use our abdominals and he made us laugh.  Basil St. John walked beside us, marveling at us. We followed the chalk arrows, admiring the seed pods and the blue skies and one another. 

 

We were four souls out for a walk in an orchard on a sunny morning.  It was perfect.

 

And, we finished.