Last week I did something pretty big, something I haven't done in a while. Went for a walk. A long walk - a bushwalk. You look at leaflets for chronically depressed, bipolar people and right up there at the top of things to "manage" your symptoms is exercise. I have nothing against exercise as long as other people do it. I got really fit once, a few years ago. Doing cardio and pump classes and felt INSANELY awesome. My feet were light on the earth and I thought I'd remain fit forever.
Anyway, some days it's hard to go for a walk to the letterbox. But at least I'm still upright.
I put on my good runners and went to explore. Passed an honesty box for waratahs along the way.
Waratahs bloom once a year. They're one of my favourite flowers. About ten years ago there was a spate of people picking them off bushes up here, so council went around and spray painted them BLUE as a deterrent! It was so sad, made all the locals cranky.
I walked all the way down this track and was met with this.
I huffed and I puffed back up all the stairs. Had to stop three times because I'm dreadfully unfit. And a little overweight. But I did it, and bought some waratahs on the way home.
Later I told Rocco about my walk, he BEGGED me to take him.
"Mum you *know* I just love exploring!"
So yesterday we set out. Rocco said he would pack the picnic and I wasn't allowed to look. We saved a cicada just sitting in the middle of the road. (I HATE bugs, but if we didn't move him he'd get squished very quickly. Am now bug hero.)
Naturally, Rocco starts running the first chance he gets. I told him to ease up. He said, "Oh, are you puffed mum?"
No, no I wasn't puffed. (Yet.)
Rocco absolutely loved it. Just as I took this photo he started climbing up the wire fence for a better look. It was a sheer drop below.
"GET DOWN!!!!" My words rang out to the people behind us. Rocco always goes that extra mile. He's been like this his whole life, my adrenaline always on alert.
It was time for our picnic ....
..... five cherry tomatoes, an apple, and an orange.
"And I packed a knife mum."
Of course he did. We sat there for awhile, admiring the view and eating fruit. Until Rocco starts pegging the cherry tomatoes over the edge and I told him to stop.
We packed up and started up those long, long stairs. "Are you puffed yet mum?"
I didn't want to give my five-year old the satisfaction. He was so excited about me getting puffed. I told him I wasn't puffed. When he scampered ahead I huffed like a steam train because I was PUFFED. One thing I noticed ... SO many people were doing walks, in all different directions. I always forget how famous and beautiful the mountains are. Everytime people walked past I controlled my breathing and then I let it all out. Rocco heard me.
"YOU ARE PUFFED MUM I CAN HEAR YOU."
For the love. "YES mum is puffed are you happy now?"
He wasn't ... he'd actually pushed himself too hard and got a stitch, so we had to stop for a while. He was gasping but kept reminding me that I was puffed first.
We walked slowly all the home. Rocco said it was the best explore ever. And when we passed the tree where we put the cicada, it was gone.
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Write to be understood, speak to be heard. - Lawrence Powell