Tag: memory

adventure

Bryson City

2chicksandapen

A quick road trip popped up on the calendar. The destination was tucked away in the mountains of North Carolina in a place called Bryson City. My first time to the area and I really had no expectations. A little fun. A little friends. Some time away.

The map took a twist and planted my RV on a narrow dirt road winding around the river. Impressive by sight of beauty, but more nerve wracking to be a passenger looking over the embankment of a narrow gravel road just after rain had hit. Oncoming trucks squeezing into the already thin road definitely made me bite my nails a few times.

My first stop was the rustic campground I booked on a whim. Not much more than a gravel pad laid by a creek with a sewer, water and power connection. The few bells and whistles consisted of three log benches by a firepit and a picnic table by each site. Simplicity. Quiet. Efficient for a short stay. Rain on the roof top by night. Coffee by the creek by morning. Topped off with a great group picnic in the afternoon after our big adventure.  With little planning the rustic camp spot ended up being the perfect destination and photo backdrop.

In between the rest and picnicking was was the adventure that brought me to Bryson City. White water rafting with 12 friends on the Nantahala River. Two boats. Two guides. Safety training. Life jackets. Paddles. Good to head to the drop point. Wait! We are one guide short. Not even sure how this happens. Somehow I was volunteered to guide a raft down a river I’ve never been on. What on Earth? I drew the short straw for this one.

I didn’t hesitate. Maybe I didn’t think about how much responsibility it came with. Maybe I didn’t trust others with my life. I don’t even know why the company allowed the customer to guide the boat. Nonetheless it happened. I had a great group of brave souls to do it with. We all paddled. We all stayed in the boat. We had an amazing time: memories to last a lifetime. Adrenaline to last for days. Pictures to prove I was a captain for a couple of hours!

Get yourself a group of adventurous pals and do things. Take risks. Be brave. Step out of your comfort zone. You will never grow or know what you are capable of if you don’t.

We conquered these rapids on July 16, 2023. We had a young one on the boat at age 17. A vintage captain at age 51. A non-swimmer. Five first-time rafters. A nurse, just in case. A smorgasbord of a crew but a damn good one at that. Living life to the fullest. One adventure at a time.

Travel buddies may change but fun is always on the menu. Hope you enjoyed a glimpse of our adventure through this post. This also makes the 8th state I’ve camped in with my RV. Slowly filling up my state map. Alabama and Arkansas are on the radar for future trips. Going for the left A states that are nearby.

family, mental health

The Cruelest Month

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“April is the cruelest month.”

Maybe it is for T. S. Eliot. But for me, the cruelest month is July.

You might think I’d love July, really. It’s the heart of summer, and I am a teacher. Pool days and party nights, right? But these days, we go back to start a new school year in July, so the turn of the calendar brings a bit of dread. But even more so, July haunts me with bad memories.

It starts with the Tour de France, which usually kicks off in the first few days of July. The Tour was a big deal each year of my youth. Long before the days of streaming video, my dad and brother would get up in the middle of the night to watch the race. Throughout the month of July, it was always on in our house…if not the live stage, a recap or rerun or highlight show. Probably not surprisingly, I eventually developed a fascination with Lance Armstrong and the US Postal team (and the other teams he rode for.) Many a summer hour was spent watching the peloton float through the French countryside.

The family love for the Tour and its fanfare was eventually overshadowed by grief.

July is the month when I lost both of my parents. When I got the call that my mother’s short illness had ended, I had the Tour de France on my TV as I got ready to go over and sit at her bedside for my daily ritual. Four years later, the very same week, when I stood by my father’s bedside as he took his last breaths, the Tour de France was on the hospital TV.

These anniversaries are ones I carry in my heart. Some years I almost forget them. But then, more often than not, my heart gets heavy. Deep sighs erupt from out of the blue. Even when my brain is protecting me from sadness, my body remembers.

If only I could put a sign on my forehead….or pin a little note like Paddington Bear had: “July hurts. Take it easy on me.” Life doesn’t work like that. On any given day, plenty of people around me are suffering. When someone snaps at me for no reason, I have to assume their hearts are troubled for reasons that likely have little to do with me.

So I guess it’s no wonder when the Tour de France ads come on, my heart starts to sink. And most years it remains sunk through all the hard and sad anniversaries of July. The heat and heartache can sap whatever energy I have. It sneaks up on me sometimes, but when I remember I know to be patient with myself and just keep going. Eventually August will come.

fitness and nutrition, health

Aches

2chicksandapen

Oh my quads. 

Oh no my pec muscles.

Geez my triceps hurt too.

Oh my traps.

Oh my hip flexors are undeniably tight.

Oh my hammies. Yes, my hamstrings hurt too.

Oh my ass and all those fibers in the gluteus maximus. They all hurt. A slight bend or shift and I feel them all.

The hinge. The doorway stretch. They help but they show tightness that one can’t see. What would my body look like under my skin?

No joke. Everything seems to be achy this Tuesday morning. Was I hit by a car? No. It’s the after effects of the Murph Hero WOD I did on Monday. I’ve been doing this workout for the past five years and I never remember being this sore.

Is it old age?

Did I lack preparation?

Did I not warm up properly?

Was I sleep deprived?

I am sure there was a combination of all of the above. I also probably didn’t fuel my body as well as I could have the weekend prior either. Now I’m suffering.

I had a nap late Tuesday. My body said it was a requirement. I didn’t fight the urge. It helped my recovery. I slept in Wednesday. Something I hardly ever do. My body said thank you. I’m getting less sore by the minute.

Why suffer? Why would I even think about doing this workout again? The irony is I will probably do this again for many more years to come. Maybe not for the aches afterwards but for the tribute to those who are no longer able to do the workout. 

Soldiers lost in the line of duty. Soldiers suffering with a lifelong injury. Soldiers suffering in silence. Veteran near and far whom I honor.

My pain is temporary. I’m able to write about it and get on with my life even if I move slower. I’m still moving.

This years pain and suffering was an honor. A badge of courage. Another tribute year in the books. As I end this post I will most likely head to bed early again today for yet another round of rest!